Curabitur vel urna.

In tris tique orci portti tor ipsum.
Scing elit Augue scientieted musica.

The Waste Land By T.S Eliot

Friday, March 8, 2013

The Waste Land
By T.S Eliot

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 
Memory and desire, stirring 
Dull roots with spring rain. 
Winter kept us warm, covering         5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding 
A little life with dried tubers. 
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee 
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, 
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,  10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. 
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. 
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, 
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, 
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,  15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. 
In the mountains, there you feel free. 
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. 
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow 
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,  20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only 
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, 
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, 
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only 
There is shadow under this red rock,  25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock), 
And I will show you something different from either 
Your shadow at morning striding behind you 
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; 
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.  30
        Frisch weht der Wind 
        Der Heimat zu, 
        Mein Irisch Kind, 
        Wo weilest du? 
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;  35
They called me the hyacinth girl.” 
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, 
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not 
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither 
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,  40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence. 
Öd’ und leer das Meer. 
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, 
Had a bad cold, nevertheless 
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,  45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, 
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, 
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) 
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, 
The lady of situations.  50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, 
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, 
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, 
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find 
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.  55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. 
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, 
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: 
One must be so careful these days. 
Unreal City,  60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, 
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, 
I had not thought death had undone so many. 
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, 
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.  65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, 
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours 
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. 
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson! 
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!  70
That corpse you planted last year in your garden, 
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? 
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? 
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, 
Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!  75
You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!” 

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass 
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines 
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out  80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing) 
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra 
Reflecting light upon the table as 
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, 
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;  85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass 
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, 
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused 
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air 
That freshened from the window, these ascended  90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, 
Flung their smoke into the laquearia, 
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. 
Huge sea-wood fed with copper 
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,  95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. 
Above the antique mantel was displayed 
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene 
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king 
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice 
And still she cried, and still the world pursues, 
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears. 
And other withered stumps of time 
Were told upon the walls; staring forms 105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. 
Footsteps shuffled on the stair, 
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair 
Spread out in fiery points 
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110
“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 
I never know what you are thinking. Think.” 
I think we are in rats’ alley 115
Where the dead men lost their bones. 
“What is that noise?” 
                      The wind under the door. 
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?” 
                      Nothing again nothing. 120
You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 
        I remember 
                Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?” 
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— 
It’s so elegant 
So intelligent 130
“What shall I do now? What shall I do? 
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street 
With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? 
What shall we ever do?” 
                          The hot water at ten. 135
And if it rains, a closed car at four. 
And we shall play a game of chess, 
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. 
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said, 
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. 
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you 
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. 
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. 
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, 
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, 
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said. 
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. 150
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. 
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said, 
Others can pick and choose if you can’t. 
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. 155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. 
(And her only thirty-one.) 
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, 
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. 
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same. 
You are a proper fool, I said. 
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, 
What you get married for if you don’t want children? 
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, 
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— 
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. 
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. 


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