many people know that t.s. eliot was a highly successful banker. but did you also know that he wrote poetry?
one day, i. a. richards had a run-in with one of eliot’s bosses at lloyd’s bank and learned the following about his banking prospects:
Bank Official: Tell me, if you will—you won’t…
This should give hope to anyone who’s ever had coworkers.
Why Taiwan, people would ask, and I would gesticulate wildly: The spirit of eternal warfare! The sense of a dying city! The shadow of Fujianese missiles! How did I miss that there is really only one skyscraper in this city, that this is a place made of one mountain bubbling out of the sea by accident, that the people here are all famous and polite and involved and in love with this place (in love!) because there is no where else for them to go? … in the end, I hope I’ll be happy I left, but it’s only hope. It’s a thing with feathers, that lights upon the forehead in the moments before my mind recedes and rouses it back into wakefulness.
You weren’t by any chance just reading the New Yorker piece on Kay Ryan, were you? All you California bitches are the same, not that I mind.
