"here there is no water, only rock, rock and no water and the [red] road..."V. What the Thunder SaidAfter the torchlight red on sweaty faces/ After the frosty silence in the gardens/After the agony in stony places/The shouting and the crying/Prison and palace and reverberation/Of thunder of spring over distant mountainsHe who was living is now deadWe who were living are now dyingWith a little patience Here is no water but only rockRock and no water and the sandy roadThe road winding above among the mountains/ Which are mountains of rock without water/ If there were water we should stop and drinkAmongst 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 not lie nor sit/ There is not even silence in the mountains/ But dry sterile thunder without rainThere 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 rockAnd also water/And water/A springA pool among the rock/If there were the sound of water only/ Not the cicada/And dry grass singingBut sound of water over a rockWhere the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees/Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop/ But there is no waterWho is the third who walks always beside you?/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/ Murmur of maternal lamentation/ Who are those hooded hordes swarming/Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earthRinged by the flat horizon onlyWhat is the city over the mountainsCracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air/Falling towersJerusalem Athens AlexandriaVienna 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 wallAnd upside down in air were towersTolling 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 chapelThere 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 In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust/Bringing rain...Datta: what have we given?/My friend, blood shaking my heartThe 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 obituariesOr in memories draped by the beneficent spider/Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor/In our empty roomsDA Dayadhvam: I have heard the keyTurn 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 rumoursRevive for a moment a broken CoriolanusDADamyata: The boat responded/Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oarThe sea was calm, your heart would have responded/Gaily, when invited, beating obedient/To controlling handsI sat upon the shoreFishing, with the arid plain behind me/Shall I at least set my lands in order?...London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down...T.S. Eloit. From 'The Wasteland'
Post a Comment