My Waste Land

Conceived during my studies, My Waste Land is a creative response to T.S Eliot’s The Wasteland—A poem that I discovered at the same time. My Waste Land was mothballed at this time, but despite its underdeveloped nature, I felt attached to the poem. There was a latent power within the poem that magnetised me toContinue reading “My Waste Land”

London Bridge

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many—buckling until it cracked. ‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.’ I had not thought death had undone so many. It collapsed with weighty sighs, exhaled. Down it went, from King William Street to Saint Mary Woolnoth, cracking a deadContinue reading “London Bridge”

April is the cruellest month

In 1922, literature experienced a shift in its identity by the publication of one poem: ‘The Waste Land’. Confusing, confounding, radical; there are plenty of adjectives to describe the experience of reading the poem. Whether you like or loathe ‘The Waste Land’ (I lean towards the latter), its hard to deny that your first timeContinue reading “April is the cruellest month”