The Waste Land and Other Poems (9 page)
Read The Waste Land and Other Poems Online
Authors: T. S. Eliot
III. The Fire Sermon
1
1
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are
departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
2
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs
are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept ...
3
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from
ear to ear.
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are
departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
2
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs
are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept ...
3
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from
ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
4
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
5
The sound of horns and motors,
6
which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
7
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
8
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu
9
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
4
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
5
The sound of horns and motors,
6
which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
7
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
8
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu
9
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
10
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic
11
French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
12
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
13
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
10
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic
11
French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
12
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
13
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human
engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two
lives,
14
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
15
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast,
lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last
rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular,
16
arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
17
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit ...
Turn upward from the desk, when the human
engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two
lives,
14
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
15
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast,
lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last
rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular,
16
arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
17
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit ...
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to
pass:
‘Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.’
When lovely woman stoops to folly
18
and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to
pass:
‘Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.’
When lovely woman stoops to folly
18
and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
‘This music crept by me upon the waters’
19
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
20
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
21
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr
22
hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
19
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
20
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
21
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr
22
hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
23
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
23
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
24
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
24
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Wallala leialala
‘Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
25
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.’
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
25
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.’
‘My feet are at Moorgate,
26
and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised “a new start.”
I made no comment. What should I resent?’
26
and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised “a new start.”
I made no comment. What should I resent?’
‘On Margate Sands.
27
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.’
27
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.’
la la
burning
IV. Death by Water
1
1
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and
tall as you.
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and
tall as you.
V. What the Thunder Said
1
1
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
2
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
2
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock
3
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
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
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
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
3
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
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
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
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush
4
sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush
4
sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
5
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?
5
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air
6
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
6
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened
wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and
exhausted wells.
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened
wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and
exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
7
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
7
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga
8
was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
9
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta:
10
what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
11
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam:
I have heard the key
12
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
13
DA
Damyata:
The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have
responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands
8
was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
9
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta:
10
what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
11
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam:
I have heard the key
12
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
13
DA
Damyata:
The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have
responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
14
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling
down
Poi s‘ascose nel foco che gli affina
15
Quando fiam uti chelidon
16
—
O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
17
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then He fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
18
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
14
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling
down
Poi s‘ascose nel foco che gli affina
15
Quando fiam uti chelidon
16
—
O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
17
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then He fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
18
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
19
19
Notes on The Waste Land
Not only the title, but the plan and a good deal of the incidental symbolism of the poem were suggested by Miss Jessie L. Weston’s book on the Grail legend:
From Ritual to Romance
(Cambridge). Indeed, so deeply am I indebted, Miss Weston’s book will elucidate the difficulties of the poem much better than my notes can do; and I recommend it (apart from the great interest of the book itself) to any who think such elucidation of the poem worth the trouble. To another work of anthropology I am indebted in general, one which has influenced our generation profoundly; I mean
The Golden Bough;
I have used especially the two volumes
Adonis,
Attis, Osiris. Anyone who is acquainted with these works will immediately recognise in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.
I. The Burial of the DeadFrom Ritual to Romance
(Cambridge). Indeed, so deeply am I indebted, Miss Weston’s book will elucidate the difficulties of the poem much better than my notes can do; and I recommend it (apart from the great interest of the book itself) to any who think such elucidation of the poem worth the trouble. To another work of anthropology I am indebted in general, one which has influenced our generation profoundly; I mean
The Golden Bough;
I have used especially the two volumes
Adonis,
Attis, Osiris. Anyone who is acquainted with these works will immediately recognise in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.
Line 20. Cf. Ezekiel II, i.
23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v.
31. V. Tristan und Isolde, I, verses 5-8.
42. Id. III, verse 24.
23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v.
31. V. Tristan und Isolde, I, verses 5-8.
42. Id. III, verse 24.
46.I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot pack of cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own convenience. The Hanged Man, a member of the traditional pack, fits my purpose in two ways: because he is associated in my mind with the Hanged God of Frazer, and because I associate him with the hooded figure in the passage of the disciples to Emmaus in Part V. The Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the ‘crowds of people,’ and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.
60. Cf. Baudelaire:
‘Fourmillante cite, cite pleine de rêves,
‘Ou le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.’
‘Ou le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.’
63.Cf. Inferno III, 5 5-57:
‘si lunga tratta
di gente, ch‘io non avrei mai creduto
che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta.’
di gente, ch‘io non avrei mai creduto
che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta.’
64. Cf. Inferno IV, 25-27:
‘Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare,
‘non avea pianto, ma’ che di sospiri,
‘che l‘aura eterna facevan tremare.’
‘non avea pianto, ma’ che di sospiri,
‘che l‘aura eterna facevan tremare.’
68.A phenomenon which I have often noticed.
74. Cf. the Dirge in Webster’s
White Devil.
White Devil.
76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to
Fleurs
du
Mal.
Fleurs
du
Mal.
Other books
What He Wants by Tawny Taylor
Brigid Lucy and the Princess Tower by Leonie Norrington
Ask For It by Selena Blake
Unnatural by Michael Griffo
The Tree by Colin Tudge
Big Jack Is Dead by Harvey Smith
Coming Home (Norris Lake Series) by Koresdoski, Amy
The Ballad of Emma O'Toole by Elizabeth Lane
Up Close and Personal by Fox, Leonie
The Great Lover by Cisco, Michael, Hughes, Rhys
