The Hollow Men

The poem begins with a double epigraph, assembled as one short stanza. Both are in colloquial speech, which contrasts with the stanzas that follow, as well as much of the poetry being produced at the time of writing. The first line, “Mistah Kurtz-he dead” (Epigraph) is a reference to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness; the second, “A penny for the Old Guy” (Epigraph) is a reference to the British custom of begging for coins as part of the celebrations for Guy Fawkes Day, also known as Bonfire Night. Both lines allude to people guilty of violence and arrogance, eventually leading them to an untimely end. This suggests that the “hollow men” who narrate the poem may have lived similar lives or made similar choices that brought them to this place.

In the first canto, T.S. Eliot immediately establishes the first-person narration from the opening lines: “We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men” (Lines 1-2). Later, he uses the first-person pronoun “I” to establish that the speaker is not a collective, but an individual speaking on behalf of a collective. This opening stanza establishes the men as figures reminiscent of scarecrows, “filled with straw” (Line 4) and speaking in “dried voices” (Line 5). Despite the bleakness of the setting, the speaker states that the men “whisper together” (Line 6), suggesting a camaraderie and solidarity at this place at the end of all things. The men are not alone, though they are unable to bring each other any fulfilment. They are “paralysed,” (Line 12) caught in a state of “gesture without motion” (Line 12).

In the next stanza, the speaker turns his attention to others who have passed through this world but have already crossed to “death’s other Kingdom” (Line 14). Although the idea of a “kingdom” is presented several times throughout the poem, this is the only time Eliot intentionally capitalizes the word. This may suggest a juxtaposition between heaven and hell, or a place of ascension juxtaposed against a place of dreaming. The speaker expresses doubt that these people remember the hollow men—and yet, by alluding to them, he reveals that he has memories of these people. In remembering others who have crossed over, the speaker shows there is still humanity within him.

The second canto introduces the idea of watchful eyes and dreams, which the speaker appears to both fear and desire. He describes the place in which divine eyes illuminate a “broken column” (Line 23), suggesting the potential for human art and creation—in other words, the “colour” (Line 11) and “motion” (Line 12) that the hollow men lack in this liminal space. This place is “[m]ore distant […] / [t]han a fading star” (Lines 27-28), yet the fact that the speaker can see or imagine this place, and has not forgotten it entirely, suggests that there is still hope for their redemption. However, the next stanza of the canto retracts this desire as the speaker and the other men try to hide from “that final meeting” (Line 37) that will ultimately decide their fate. The speaker and the other men cloak themselves in disguises and “[b]ehav[e] as the wind behaves” (Line 34) to pass unnoticed by these divine eyes. While they yearn for this other world, they have also grown comfortable and fear that their transcendence may lead to something even worse. This push and pull of hope and fear feeds the narrative of the poem.

Eliot further illuminates this idea in the third canto, where the false stone images receive prayers of “supplication” (Line 43). Given the religious overtones of the poem, this line is intended to highlight the shame and deviation of these lost souls. However, despite the fact that these men are praying to the wrong deities, they are still expressing the hope and need that makes them human. The men are “[t]rembling with tenderness” (Line 49) and longing for human connection. Unable to find it, they instead turn to “broken stone” (Line 51), an inversion of the broken column in the other world.

By the fourth canto, there is a sense that the hollow men have moved forward on their journey. The speaker remarks that “[t]here are no eyes here” (Line 53), though whether this line is spoken in relief, disappointment, or an intersection of the two is left to the reader to decide. They have come to a valley where, it is implied, they can go no further without the blessing of this divine presence. The valley is described as a “broken jaw” (Line 56), continuing the recurring motif of broken things and perhaps a reference to the inability to speak or shape words of value. The men are “sightless” (Line 61), waiting for the salvation of heaven, which suggests they have come as far as they can on their own. The canto finishes with the lines “[t]he hope only / [o]f empty men” (Lines 66-67), which gives the poem a sense of waiting for the final event that will shape the paths taken by the souls of these men.

The fifth and final canto opens on an entirely different note, with the men singing a folk song around a cactus tree. A familiar children’s song about a deciduous fruit-bearing bush (the mulberry tree) has changed into a sharp, desert-dwelling prickly pear cactus. Despite the barren land and the unwelcoming plant, it nonetheless bears edible fruit and would be a welcome sight to one wandering the desert. This dual image appears in line with previous imagery that alludes to both desperation and salvation. Following the rhythm of this playful song, where children typically dance in a circle while holding hands, the final descent of the poem also becomes increasingly frantic and erratic. The majority of the stanzas are built on anaphora, or repeating opening phrases: “[b]etween” one idea and a contrasting one, creating a back-and-forth tension as the hollow men fight to free themselves from their state of stagnation and stasis. In each statement, the speaker expresses a form of desire and its ultimate expression, highlighting how the “Shadow” (Lines 76, 82, 90) falls between these two moments of initiation and completion. Normally, that space is where life is lived—it is the journey between an “idea” (Line 72) and the “reality” (Line 73) that action has made possible. Instead, for the hollow men, a shadow has fallen over this space, so no conception arrives at creation, and no emotion finds its response.

This state of paralysis persists as Eliot weaves pieces of a prayer among the contrasting ideas, which appear as though they were coming from an external voice. This gives the sense that if the men could only say the prayer back to this divine figure, their souls could be saved. They are unable to piece the words together, and this failure secures their damnation to the end of the world. Eliot ends the poem with the now famous lines, “This is the way the world ends, / This is the way the world ends, / This is the way the world ends, / Not with a bang but a whimper” (Lines 95-98). While the ambition of youth might drive men to war with visions of victory, or at worst a brave and honorable death in battle, Eliot’s image of a whimpering death presents a sharp contrast to those dreams. It undermines romantic beliefs in an honorable fight, and instead reveals the fear and suffering many endure at war, and the (literal and figurative) paralysis of many of those who return from combat. The final lines of the poem drive home the disillusion faced by the living, and the dead as Eliot envisions them in the afterlife, in a distinctly Modernist take on the toll of war in the 20th century.