“The Triumph of Bullshit” by T.S. Eliot

Ladies, on whom my attentions have waited
If you consider my merits are small
Etiolated, alembicated,
Orotund, tasteless, fantastical,
Monotonous, crotchety, constipated,
Impotent galamatias
Affected, possibly imitated,
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

Ladies, who find my intentions ridiculous
Awkward, insipid and horribly gauche
Pompous, pretentious, ineptly meticulous
Dull as the heart of an unbaked brioche
Floundering versicles feebly versiculous
Often attenuate, frequently crass
Attempts at emotion that turn isiculous,
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

Ladies who think me unduly vociferous
Amiable cabotin making a noise
That people may cry out “this stuff is too stiff for us”—
Ingenuous child with a box of new toys
Toy lions carnivorous, cannon fumiferous
Engines vaporous- all this will pass;
Quite innocent, —“he only wants to make shiver us.”
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

And when thyself with silver foot shall pass
Among the theories scattered on the grass
Take up my good intentions with the rest
And then for Christ’s sake stick them up your ass.

3 thoughts on ““The Triumph of Bullshit” by T.S. Eliot

  1. “Lyndall Gordon, in her biography T.S. Eliot: An Imperfect Life (1998), writes a brief comment on “The Triumph of Bullshit,” opening with the observation that the poem was written in Paris (November 1910): “The pressure of Eliot’s own inhibition burst it’s barriers in a riot of obscene verse—exactly what his mother had feared in the immoral influence of Paris.… (Eliot’s [use of bullshit] is the first usage recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary)”

    —T.S. Eliot: The Making of an American Poet, 1888-1922 by James E. Miller Jr.

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