I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD



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 dried tubers.   

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.   

Son of man,  

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,   

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),   

                Frisch weht der Wind   

                Der Heimat zu.   

                Mein Irisch Kind,   

                Wo weilest du?   

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither   

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.   

Od' und leer das Meer.   

  

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. 

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.   

If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,   

Unreal City,

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,   

'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,   

'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'   

  

Huge sea-wood fed with copper   

'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.   

And other withered stumps of time   

Were told upon the walls; staring forms 

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.   

'My nerves are bad to-night. Speak.   

'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?   

'I never know what you are thinking. Where the dead men lost their bones.   

  

'What is that noise?'   

                      The wind under the door.   

                          The hot water at ten.   

And if it rains, a closed car at four.   

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.   

  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME   

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME   

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME  

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME   

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME   

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight.   

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.   

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.   

  

The wind   

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.   

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.   

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,   

Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.   

White bodies naked on the low damp ground   

And bones cast in a little low dry garret,   

Twit twit twit   

Jug jug jug jug jug jug   

Unreal City   

Under the brown fog of a winter noon   

Like a taxi throbbing waiting,   

Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see   

Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,   

The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights   

Out of the window perilously spread   

Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.   

I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs   

Which still are unreproved, if undesired.   

Exploring hands encounter no defence;  

Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 

      The river sweats   

      With the turning tide   

      Red sails 

      The barges wash   

      Drifting logs   

            Weialala leia   

            Wallala leialala   

  

      Beating oars  

      Red and gold   

      Rippled both shores   

      Southwest wind   

      White towers   

'Trams and dusty trees.   

Under my feet. The broken fingernails of dirty hands.   

      la la   

  

Burning burning burning burning   

O Lord Thou pluckest  

  

burning   

  

IV. DEATH BY WATER





PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,   

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell   

Picked his bones in whispers. AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces   

Of thunder of spring over distant mountains   

Here is no water but only rock   

Rock and no water and the sandy road   

The road winding above among the mountains   

Which are mountains of rock without water   

If there were water we should stop and drink  

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand   

If there were only water amongst the rock   

Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit   

                                 If there were water   

  And no rock   

  If there were rock   

  And also water   

  And water   

  A pool among the rock   

  If there were the sound of water only   

  Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop   

What is that sound high in the air   

What is the city over the mountains   

Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air   

Falling towers   

Vienna London  

A woman drew her long black hair out tight   

Dry bones can harm no one.   

Bringing rain   

  

Then spoke the thunder   

My friend, blood shaking my heart   

In our empty rooms   

Turn in the door once and turn once only   

Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison   

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus   

Gaily, when invited, beating obedient   

To controlling hands   

  

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down   

  

Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow   

Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie   

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.   

  

            Shantih shantih shantih

T.S. via Word auto-summarize sounds exactly the way it feels reading up late jittery when the house is silent and the record has been playing the label for ten minutes when the skies open up out of nowhere when suddenly there is rain, monsoon rain and thunder rattling wasp's nests under eaves. this morning bleeding heavy a comforting weight I hoped for grey and stepped into sunlight prismed through mist. fluorescent refracted, coffee cup. meniscus.

(archive page for this week up finally merci beaucoup a blogger)