The widow and literary executor of the Nobel laureate has died after a short illness
Valerie Eliot, after presenting the TS Eliot prize in 2006. Photograph: Chris Jackson/Getty Images
Valerie Eliot, the widow and literary executor of poet TS Eliot, has died at the age of 86.
The poet's estate said she died on Friday at her London home after a short illness.
Valerie Eliot was the second wife of the US-born Nobel laureate in literature, whom she met at London publisher Faber & Faber. He was a director, she a secretary.
The couple wed in 1957. Friends said the marriage was a happy one despite the almost 40-year gap in their ages.
After TS Eliot's death in 1965, Valerie became his devoted executor, editing his poems and letters for publication and steadfastly refusing to cooperate with would-be biographers, in keeping with the poet's last wishes.
A death notice in the Daily Telegraph said her funeral would be private.
The poet's estate said she died on Friday at her London home after a short illness.
Valerie Eliot was the second wife of the US-born Nobel laureate in literature, whom she met at London publisher Faber & Faber. He was a director, she a secretary.
The couple wed in 1957. Friends said the marriage was a happy one despite the almost 40-year gap in their ages.
After TS Eliot's death in 1965, Valerie became his devoted executor, editing his poems and letters for publication and steadfastly refusing to cooperate with would-be biographers, in keeping with the poet's last wishes.
A death notice in the Daily Telegraph said her funeral would be private.
2 comments:
Over the last few years TS Elliot's poetry, which I haven't read for over two decades, keeps popping into my mind.
... Measuring a life with coffee spoons.
... I grow old, I grow old
I shall wear my trousers rolled
I shall walk along sandy, sunlit beaches
Eating ice cream and peaches.
Can't remember anyone else's lines, just his.
And the opening of Stead's Mansfield with her walking with TS just came into my mind now.
Probably delayed midlife crisis. Though at least it's not his mate, Ezra Pound; that would be troubling.
Oh nuts. One T - remember his lines, not how to spell his name.
Post a Comment