{"id":58,"date":"2015-08-25T03:29:17","date_gmt":"2015-08-25T03:29:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/?page_id=58"},"modified":"2015-08-27T21:09:43","modified_gmt":"2015-08-27T21:09:43","slug":"t-s-eliot","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/texts\/t-s-eliot\/","title":{"rendered":"T.S. Eliot"},"content":{"rendered":"<\/a>
“The Waste Land” (1922)<\/h5>\n

FOR EZRA POUND
\nIL MIGLIOR FABBRO<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\"\"<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
I. The Burial of the Dead<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 April is the cruellest month, breeding<\/div>\n
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing<\/div>\n
Memory and desire, stirring<\/div>\n
Dull roots with spring rain.<\/div>\n
Winter kept us warm, covering<\/div>\n
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding<\/div>\n
A little life with dried tubers.<\/div>\n
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee<\/div>\n
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,<\/div>\n
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,<\/div>\n
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.<\/div>\n
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm\u2019 aus Litauen, echt deutsch.<\/div>\n
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke\u2019s,<\/div>\n
My cousin\u2019s, he took me out on a sled,<\/div>\n
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,<\/div>\n
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.<\/div>\n
In the mountains, there you feel free.<\/div>\n
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow<\/div>\n
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,<\/div>\n
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only<\/div>\n
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,<\/div>\n
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,<\/div>\n
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only<\/div>\n
There is shadow under this red rock,<\/div>\n
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),<\/div>\n
And I will show you something different from either<\/div>\n
Your shadow at morning striding behind you<\/div>\n
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;<\/div>\n
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Frisch weht der Wind<\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/em>Der Heimat zu<\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/em>Mein Irisch Kind,<\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/em>Wo weilest du?<\/em><\/div>\n
\u201cYou gave me hyacinths first a year ago;<\/div>\n
\u201cThey called me the hyacinth girl.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u2014Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,<\/div>\n
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not<\/div>\n
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither<\/div>\n
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,<\/div>\n
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.<\/div>\n
Oed\u2019 und leer das Meer<\/em>.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,<\/div>\n
Had a bad cold, nevertheless<\/div>\n
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,<\/div>\n
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,<\/div>\n
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,<\/div>\n
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)<\/div>\n
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,<\/div>\n
The lady of situations.<\/div>\n
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,<\/div>\n
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,<\/div>\n
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,<\/div>\n
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find<\/div>\n
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.<\/div>\n
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.<\/div>\n
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,<\/div>\n
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:<\/div>\n
One must be so careful these days.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 Unreal City,<\/div>\n
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,<\/div>\n
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,<\/div>\n
I had not thought death had undone so many.<\/div>\n
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,<\/div>\n
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.<\/div>\n
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,<\/div>\n
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours<\/div>\n
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.<\/div>\n
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: \u201cStetson!<\/div>\n
\u201cYou who were with me in the ships at Mylae!<\/div>\n
\u201cThat corpse you planted last year in your garden,<\/div>\n
\u201cHas it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?<\/div>\n
\u201cOr has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?<\/div>\n
\u201cOh keep the Dog far hence, that\u2019s friend to men,<\/div>\n
\u201cOr with his nails he\u2019ll dig it up again!<\/div>\n
\u201cYou! hypocrite lecteur!\u2014mon semblable,\u2014mon fr\u00e8re!\u201d<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 II. A Game of Chess<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,<\/div>\n
Glowed on the marble, where the glass<\/div>\n
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines<\/div>\n
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out<\/div>\n
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)<\/div>\n
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra<\/div>\n
Reflecting light upon the table as<\/div>\n
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,<\/div>\n
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;<\/div>\n
In vials of ivory and coloured glass<\/div>\n
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,<\/div>\n
Unguent, powdered, or liquid\u2014troubled, confused<\/div>\n
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air<\/div>\n
That freshened from the window, these ascended<\/div>\n
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,<\/div>\n
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,<\/div>\n
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.<\/div>\n
Huge sea-wood fed with copper<\/div>\n
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,<\/div>\n
In which sad light a carv\u00e9d dolphin swam.<\/div>\n
Above the antique mantel was displayed<\/div>\n
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene<\/div>\n
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king<\/div>\n
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale<\/div>\n
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice<\/div>\n
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,<\/div>\n
\u201cJug Jug\u201d to dirty ears.<\/div>\n
And other withered stumps of time<\/div>\n
Were told upon the walls; staring forms<\/div>\n
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.<\/div>\n
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.<\/div>\n
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair<\/div>\n
Spread out in fiery points<\/div>\n
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u201cMy nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.<\/div>\n
\u201cSpeak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u201cWhat are you thinking of? What thinking? What?<\/div>\n
\u201cI never know what you are thinking. Think.\u201d<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 I think we are in rats\u2019 alley<\/div>\n
Where the dead men lost their bones.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u201cWhat is that noise?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The wind under the door.<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat is that noise now? What is the wind doing?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Nothing again nothing.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cDo<\/div>\n
\u201cYou know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember<\/div>\n
\u201cNothing?\u201d<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I remember<\/div>\n
Those are pearls that were his eyes.<\/div>\n
\u201cAre you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?\u201d<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But<\/div>\n
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag\u2014<\/div>\n
It\u2019s so elegant<\/div>\n
So intelligent<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat shall I do now? What shall I do?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI shall rush out as I am, and walk the street<\/div>\n
\u201cWith my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat shall we ever do?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The hot water at ten.<\/div>\n
And if it rains, a closed car at four.<\/div>\n
And we shall play a game of chess,<\/div>\n
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 When Lil\u2019s husband got demobbed, I said\u2014<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t mince my words, I said to her myself,<\/div>\n
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/small><\/div>\n
Now Albert\u2019s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.<\/div>\n
He\u2019ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you<\/div>\n
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.<\/div>\n
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,<\/div>\n
He said, I swear, I can\u2019t bear to look at you.<\/div>\n
And no more can\u2019t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,<\/div>\n
He\u2019s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,<\/div>\n
And if you don\u2019t give it him, there\u2019s others will, I said.<\/div>\n
Oh is there, she said. Something o\u2019 that, I said.<\/div>\n
Then I\u2019ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.<\/div>\n
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/small><\/div>\n
If you don\u2019t like it you can get on with it, I said.<\/div>\n
Others can pick and choose if you can\u2019t.<\/div>\n
But if Albert makes off, it won\u2019t be for lack of telling.<\/div>\n
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.<\/div>\n
(And her only thirty-one.)<\/div>\n
I can\u2019t help it, she said, pulling a long face,<\/div>\n
It\u2019s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.<\/div>\n
(She\u2019s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)<\/div>\n
The chemist said it would be all right, but I\u2019ve never been the same.<\/div>\n
You are<\/em> a proper fool, I said.<\/div>\n
Well, if Albert won\u2019t leave you alone, there it is, I said,<\/div>\n
What you get married for if you don\u2019t want children?<\/div>\n
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/small><\/div>\n
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,<\/div>\n
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot\u2014<\/div>\n
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/small><\/div>\n
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/small><\/div>\n
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.<\/div>\n
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.<\/div>\n
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 III. The Fire Sermon<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 The river\u2019s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf<\/div>\n
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind<\/div>\n
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.<\/div>\n
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.<\/div>\n
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,<\/div>\n
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends<\/div>\n
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.<\/div>\n
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;<\/div>\n
Departed, have left no addresses.<\/div>\n
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .<\/div>\n
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,<\/div>\n
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.<\/div>\n
But at my back in a cold blast I hear<\/div>\n
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

A rat crept softly through the vegetation<\/div>\n
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank<\/div>\n
While I was fishing in the dull canal<\/div>\n
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse<\/div>\n
Musing upon the king my brother\u2019s wreck<\/div>\n
And on the king my father\u2019s death before him.<\/div>\n
White bodies naked on the low damp ground<\/div>\n
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,<\/div>\n
Rattled by the rat\u2019s foot only, year to year.<\/div>\n
But at my back from time to time I hear<\/div>\n
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring<\/div>\n
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.<\/div>\n
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter<\/div>\n
And on her daughter<\/div>\n
They wash their feet in soda water<\/div>\n
Et O ces voix d\u2019enfants, chantant dans la coupole!<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Twit twit twit<\/div>\n
Jug jug jug jug jug jug<\/div>\n
So rudely forc\u2019d.<\/div>\n
Tereu<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Unreal City<\/div>\n
Under the brown fog of a winter noon<\/div>\n
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant<\/div>\n
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants<\/div>\n
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,<\/div>\n
Asked me in demotic French<\/div>\n
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel<\/div>\n
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back<\/div>\n
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits<\/div>\n
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,<\/div>\n
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,<\/div>\n
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see<\/div>\n
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives<\/div>\n
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,<\/div>\n
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights<\/div>\n
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.<\/div>\n
Out of the window perilously spread<\/div>\n
Her drying combinations touched by the sun\u2019s last rays,<\/div>\n
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)<\/div>\n
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.<\/div>\n
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs<\/div>\n
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest\u2014<\/div>\n
I too awaited the expected guest.<\/div>\n
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,<\/div>\n
A small house agent\u2019s clerk, with one bold stare,<\/div>\n
One of the low on whom assurance sits<\/div>\n
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.<\/div>\n
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,<\/div>\n
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,<\/div>\n
Endeavours to engage her in caresses<\/div>\n
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.<\/div>\n
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;<\/div>\n
Exploring hands encounter no defence;<\/div>\n
His vanity requires no response,<\/div>\n
And makes a welcome of indifference.<\/div>\n
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all<\/div>\n
Enacted on this same divan or bed;<\/div>\n
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall<\/div>\n
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)<\/div>\n
Bestows one final patronising kiss,<\/div>\n
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,<\/div>\n
Hardly aware of her departed lover;<\/div>\n
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:<\/div>\n
\u201cWell now that\u2019s done: and I\u2019m glad it\u2019s over.\u201d<\/div>\n
When lovely woman stoops to folly and<\/div>\n
Paces about her room again, alone,<\/div>\n
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,<\/div>\n
And puts a record on the gramophone.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThis music crept by me upon the waters\u201d<\/div>\n
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.<\/div>\n
O City city, I can sometimes hear<\/div>\n
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,<\/div>\n
The pleasant whining of a mandoline<\/div>\n
And a clatter and a chatter from within<\/div>\n
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls<\/div>\n
Of Magnus Martyr hold<\/div>\n
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The river sweats<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Oil and tar<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The barges drift<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With the turning tide<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Red sails<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Wide<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The barges wash<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Drifting logs<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Down Greenwich reach<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Past the Isle of Dogs.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Weialala leia<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Wallala leialala<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Elizabeth and Leicester<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Beating oars<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The stern was formed<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A gilded shell<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Red and gold<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The brisk swell<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Rippled both shores<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Southwest wind<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Carried down stream<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The peal of bells<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 White towers<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Weialala leia<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Wallala leialala<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTrams and dusty trees.<\/div>\n
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew<\/div>\n
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees<\/div>\n
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.\u201d<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy feet are at Moorgate, and my heart<\/div>\n
Under my feet. After the event<\/div>\n
He wept. He promised a \u2018new start.\u2019<\/div>\n
I made no comment. What should I resent?\u201d<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOn Margate Sands.<\/div>\n
I can connect<\/div>\n
Nothing with nothing.<\/div>\n
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.<\/div>\n
My people humble people who expect<\/div>\n
Nothing.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 la la<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

To Carthage then I came<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Burning burning burning burning<\/div>\n
O Lord Thou pluckest me out<\/div>\n
O Lord Thou pluckest<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

burning<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 IV. Death by Water<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,<\/div>\n
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell<\/div>\n
And the profit and loss.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A current under sea<\/div>\n
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell<\/div>\n
He passed the stages of his age and youth<\/div>\n
Entering the whirlpool.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Gentile or Jew<\/div>\n
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,<\/div>\n
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 V. What the Thunder Said<\/em><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 After the torchlight red on sweaty faces<\/div>\n
After the frosty silence in the gardens<\/div>\n
After the agony in stony places<\/div>\n
The shouting and the crying<\/div>\n
Prison and palace and reverberation<\/div>\n
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains<\/div>\n
He who was living is now dead<\/div>\n
We who were living are now dying<\/div>\n
With a little patience<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Here is no water but only rock<\/div>\n
Rock and no water and the sandy road<\/div>\n
The road winding above among the mountains<\/div>\n
Which are mountains of rock without water<\/div>\n
If there were water we should stop and drink<\/div>\n
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think<\/div>\n
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand<\/div>\n
If there were only water amongst the rock<\/div>\n
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit<\/div>\n
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit<\/div>\n
There is not even silence in the mountains<\/div>\n
But dry sterile thunder without rain<\/div>\n
There is not even solitude in the mountains<\/div>\n
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl<\/div>\n
From doors of mudcracked houses<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 If there were water<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 And no rock<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 If there were rock<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 And also water<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 And water<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 A spring<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 A pool among the rock<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 If there were the sound of water only<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 Not the cicada<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 And dry grass singing<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 But sound of water over a rock<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0 But there is no water<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Who is the third who walks always beside you?<\/div>\n
When I count, there are only you and I together<\/div>\n
But when I look ahead up the white road<\/div>\n
There is always another one walking beside you<\/div>\n
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded<\/div>\n
I do not know whether a man or a woman<\/div>\n
\u2014But who is that on the other side of you?<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

What is that sound high in the air<\/div>\n
Murmur of maternal lamentation<\/div>\n
Who are those hooded hordes swarming<\/div>\n
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth<\/div>\n
Ringed by the flat horizon only<\/div>\n
What is the city over the mountains<\/div>\n
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air<\/div>\n
Falling towers<\/div>\n
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria<\/div>\n
Vienna London<\/div>\n
Unreal<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

A woman drew her long black hair out tight<\/div>\n
And fiddled whisper music on those strings<\/div>\n
And bats with baby faces in the violet light<\/div>\n
Whistled, and beat their wings<\/div>\n
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall<\/div>\n
And upside down in air were towers<\/div>\n
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours<\/div>\n
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

In this decayed hole among the mountains<\/div>\n
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing<\/div>\n
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel<\/div>\n
There is the empty chapel, only the wind\u2019s home.<\/div>\n
It has no windows, and the door swings,<\/div>\n
Dry bones can harm no one.<\/div>\n
Only a cock stood on the rooftree<\/div>\n
Co co rico co co rico<\/div>\n
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust<\/div>\n
Bringing rain<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves<\/div>\n
Waited for rain, while the black clouds<\/div>\n
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.<\/div>\n
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.<\/div>\n
Then spoke the thunder<\/div>\n
DA<\/small><\/div>\n
Datta:<\/em> what have we given?<\/div>\n
My friend, blood shaking my heart<\/div>\n
The awful daring of a moment\u2019s surrender<\/div>\n
Which an age of prudence can never retract<\/div>\n
By this, and this only, we have existed<\/div>\n
Which is not to be found in our obituaries<\/div>\n
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider<\/div>\n
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor<\/div>\n
In our empty rooms<\/div>\n
DA<\/small><\/div>\n
Dayadhvam:<\/em> I have heard the key<\/div>\n
Turn in the door once and turn once only<\/div>\n
We think of the key, each in his prison<\/div>\n
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison<\/div>\n
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours<\/div>\n
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus<\/div>\n
DA<\/small><\/div>\n
Damyata:<\/em> The boat responded<\/div>\n
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar<\/div>\n
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded<\/div>\n
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient<\/div>\n
To controlling hands<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I sat upon the shore<\/div>\n
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me<\/div>\n
Shall I at least set my lands in order?<\/div>\n
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down<\/div>\n
Poi s\u2019ascose nel foco che gli affina<\/em><\/div>\n
Quando fiam uti chelidon<\/em>\u2014O swallow swallow<\/div>\n
Le Prince d\u2019Aquitaine \u00e0 la tour abolie<\/em><\/div>\n
These fragments I have shored against my ruins<\/div>\n
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo\u2019s mad againe.<\/div>\n
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Shantih\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 shantih\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 shantih<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“The Waste Land” (1922) FOR EZRA POUND IL MIGLIOR FABBRO \u00a0 I. The Burial of the Dead   \u00a0 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 Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with … Continue reading T.S. Eliot<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":24,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"footnotes":"","_members_access_role":[],"_members_access_error":""},"class_list":["post-58","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/58","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=58"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/58\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":59,"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/58\/revisions\/59"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/teaching.lfhanley.net\/eng528f15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=58"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}