Good morning to you all! Laurence Olivier once said that “in a great city, or even a small city or village, a great theatre is the outward and visible sign of an inward and probable culture”, MrGongGong. 'The Times' leads this morning with some editorial comment on awarding subsidies. 'The Thunderer' argues that the Olivier Awards last night were a reminder that London theatre not only enriches the capital’s cultural life, it also qualifies as one of Britain’s world-beating industries. Ticket sales rose to £530 million last year but that greatly understates the economic importance of the theatre, which is a big lure for high-spending tourists. In direct reply to your opening post, Serial_Apologist, I am inclined to think that money is more often made after subsidisation than before. Of course, no money may be made at all, but that is often beside the point. If I may quote T S Eliot directly from 'The Waste Land' (1922):
At the very end of his poem, T S Eliot turns to the Fisher King himself, still on the shore fishing. The possibility of regeneration for the “arid plain” of society has been long ago discarded here in the waste land. Instead, the king will do his best to put in order what remains of his kingdom, and he will then surrender, although he still fails to understand the true significance of the coming void. The burst of allusions at the end of 'The Waste Land' can be read as either a final attempt at coherence or as a final dissolution into a world of fragments and rubbish.
The king offers some consolation: “These fragments I have shored against my ruins,” he says, suggesting that it will be possible to continue on despite the failed redemption. It will still be possible for him, and for Eliot, to “fit you,” to create art in the face of madness. It is important that the last words of the poem are in a non-Western language. Although the meaning of the words themselves communicates resignation (“peace which passeth understanding”), they invoke an alternative set of paradigms to those of the Western world; they offer a glimpse into a culture and a value system new to us—and, thus, offer some hope for an alternative to our own dead world, Serial_Apologist.
" ... I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih"
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih"
The king offers some consolation: “These fragments I have shored against my ruins,” he says, suggesting that it will be possible to continue on despite the failed redemption. It will still be possible for him, and for Eliot, to “fit you,” to create art in the face of madness. It is important that the last words of the poem are in a non-Western language. Although the meaning of the words themselves communicates resignation (“peace which passeth understanding”), they invoke an alternative set of paradigms to those of the Western world; they offer a glimpse into a culture and a value system new to us—and, thus, offer some hope for an alternative to our own dead world, Serial_Apologist.
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