“His
coat's very shabby, he's thin as a rake,
And
he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet
he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats--
But
no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For
he isn't the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though
his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And
whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which
takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He
loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With
anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For
he once was a Star of the highest degree--
He
has acted with Irving, he's acted with Tree.
And
he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where
the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.”—American-born British poet,
essayist, and playwright T.S. Eliot (1888-1965), “Gus: The Theatre Cat,” in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (1939)
For
nearly the past four decades, theatergoers have also recognized these verses in
a quite different context: as the lyrics to a song from the Andrew Lloyd Webber
musical Cats. But I discovered it
first in a far different source: the very fine Philip Larkin-edited anthology, The Oxford Book of 20th-Century
English Verse.
The
Eliot poems that I know best are about as funny as heart attacks: “The Love
Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” “The Waste Land,” “Ash Wednesday,” and “Four
Quartets,” not to mention the verse drama Murder
in the Cathedral. So I couldn’t be more excited to discover this distinct
change of pace for him.
Well, somewhat different, anyway. It's not massively somber like so many other Eliot poems, but this certainly has an element of melancholy to it. And take a look at the face in the photo. Hasn't it seen better days? He's not even feared anymore!
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