HERE FOR HOLIDAY MONDAY is my own little dead poets' society ~ reading their own work. If you don't like the words, you might like some of the visuals. Not everything I looked for I could find a decent version of. So I'm sorry about the "modern art" sound effects over Thomas Sterns Eliot.
Starting with the best:
T S Eliot: Little Gidding
with the immortal line:
ash on an old man's sleeve
is all the ash burnt roses leave ...
WILFRED OWEN: DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Jeremy Paxman is like a rude, British, male version of Barbara Walters. This is why he sees fit to have his own say first:
Sylvia Plath: Lady Lazarus
I didn't expect American-born, highly neurotic Plath to sound so authoritative... or so English. Not all poets are expert at reading their own work.
Sylvia Plath lived for many years (and died) married to Ted Hughes (poet laureate 1984-1998) in the UK.
She is boasting here about surviving her own suicide attempts.
She died with her head in the oven in 1963
This verse was published posthumously:
OK this isn't read by the poet but it's good.
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