| |
| I. The Burial of the Dead |
|
| April is the cruelest 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 dried tubers. |
| Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee |
| With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade |
| 10 | And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, |
| 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 arch-duke's, |
| My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, |
| And I was frightened. He said, Marie, |
| 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 winter. |
|
| What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow |
| 20 | Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, |
| 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 |
| (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; |
| 30 | I will show you fear in a handful of dust. |
| Frisch weht der Wind |
| Der heimat zu |
| Mein Irisch kind, |
| Wo weilest du? |
| "You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;" |
| "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 |
| 40 | Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, |
| Looking into the heart of light, the silence. |
| Öd' und leer das Meer. |
|
| Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, |
| Has a bad cold, nevertheless |
| Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, |
| 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, |
| 50 | The lady of situations. |
| 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 that he carries on his back, |
| Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find |
| The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. |
| 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. |
|
| 60 | Unreal City |
| 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, |
| 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! |
| 70 | You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! |
| 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! |
| You! hypocrite lecteur!--mon semblable!--mon frère!" |
|
| [ The Burial of the Dead | A Game of Chess | The Fire Sermon ] |
| [ Death by Water | What the Thunder Said ] |
|
|
| 08/13/97 |  xanax@enteract.com |
