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 time

Tyger Tyger, stuffed alright

Tyger Tyger, stuffed alright, Stuck in a glass cube all day and night; What childish eye, Would see the animal with such fright? In what far away jungles. Did it make its prey crumble? On which lands did he aspire? In which paw did seized prey respire? And what far-off lands did his beady eyes