The language and the twist or T S Eliot

 Do you think along with Cleanth Brooks that the language of paradox is the very soul of poetry? Poetry includes all angles but eludes any straight-jacket, it seems. When you read T S Eliot's lines 

"And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;.."

Sheer incongruity made so beautiful! Yellow smoke rubbing its back upon the window-panes! Or again

"Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…"

We have felt the streets and the questions separately. But when the poetry makes a connection, a paradox...mm yea...one is tempted to half agree. 

Srirangam Mohanarangan

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