荒原
荒原（獻給埃茲拉·龐德
最卓越的匠人）
一、死者葬禮
四月是最殘忍的一個月，荒地上
長着丁香，把回憶和欲望
參合在一起，又讓春雨
催促那些遲鈍的根芽。
鼕天使我們溫暖，大地
給助人遺忘的雪覆蓋着，又叫
枯幹的球根提供少許生命。
夏天來得出人意外，在下陣雨的時候
來到了斯丹卜基西；我們在柱廊下躲避，
等太陽出來又進了霍夫加登，
喝咖啡，閑談了一個小時。
我不是俄國人，我是立陶宛來的，是地道的德國人。
而且我們小時候住在大公那裏
我表兄傢，他帶着我出去滑雪橇，
我很害怕。他說，瑪麗，
瑪麗，牢牢揪住。我們就往下衝。
在山上，那裏你覺得自由。
大半個晚上我看書，鼕天我到南方。
什麽樹根在抓緊，什麽樹根在從
這堆亂石塊裏長出？人子啊，
你說不出，也猜不到，因為你衹知道
一堆破爛的偶像，承受着太陽的鞭打
枯死的樹沒有遮蔭。蟋蟀的聲音也不使人放心，
焦石間沒有流水的聲音。衹有
這塊紅石下有影子，
（請走進這塊紅石下的影子）
我要指點你一件事，它既不像
你早起的影子，在你後面邁步；
也不像傍晚的，站起身來迎着你；
我要給你看恐懼在一把塵土裏。
風吹得很輕快，
吹送我回傢去，
愛爾蘭的小孩，
你在哪裏逗留？
“一年前你先給我的是風信子；
他們叫我做風信子的女郎”，
——可是等我們回來，晚了，從風信子的園裏來，
你的臂膊抱滿，你的頭髮濕漉，我說不出
話，眼睛看不見，我既不是
活的，也未曾死，我什麽都不知道，
望着光亮的中心看時，是一片寂靜。
荒涼而空虛是那大海。
馬丹梭梭屈裏士，著名的女相士，
患了重感冒，可仍然是
歐羅巴知名的最有智慧的女人，
帶着一副惡毒的紙牌，這裏，她說，
是你的一張，那淹死了的腓尼基水手，
（這些珍珠就是他的眼睛，看！）
這是貝洛多納，岩石的女主人
一個善於應變的女人。
這人帶着三根杖，這是“轉輪”，
這是那獨眼商人，這張牌上面
一無所有，是他背在背上的一種東西。
是不準我看見的。我沒有找到
“那被絞死的人”。怕水裏的死亡。
我看見成群的人，在繞着圈子走。
謝謝你。你看見親愛的愛奎爾太太的時候
就說我自己把天宮圖給她帶去，
這年頭人得小心啊。
並無實體的城，
在鼕日破曉的黃霧下，
一群人魚貫地流過倫敦橋，人數是那麽多，
我沒想到死亡毀壞了這許多人。
嘆息，短促而稀少，吐了出來，
人人的眼睛都盯住在自己的腳前。
流上山，流下威廉王大街，
直到聖馬利吳爾諾斯教堂，那裏報時的鐘聲
敲着最後的第九下，陰沉的一聲。
在那裏我看見一個熟人，攔住他叫道：“斯代真！”
你從前在邁裏的船上是和我在一起的！
去年你種在你花園裏的屍首，
它發芽了嗎？今年會開花嗎？
還是忽來嚴霜搗壞了它的花床？
叫這狗熊星走遠吧，它是人們的朋友，
不然它會用它的爪子再把它挖掘出來！
你！虛偽的讀者！——我的同類——我的兄弟！
二、對弈
她所坐的椅子，像發亮的寶座
在大理石上放光，有一面鏡子，
座上滿刻着結足了果子的藤，
還有個黃金的小愛神探出頭來
（另外一個把眼睛藏在翅膀背後）
使七枝光燭臺的火焰加高一倍，
桌子上還有反射的光彩
緞盒裏傾註出的炫目輝煌，
是她珠寶的閃光也升起來迎着；
在開着口的象牙和彩色玻璃製的
小瓶裏，暗藏着她那些奇異的合成香料——膏狀，粉狀或液體的——使感覺
局促不安，迷惘，被淹沒在香味裏；受到
窗外新鮮空氣的微微吹動，這些香氣
在上升時，使點燃了很久的燭焰變得肥滿，
又把煙縷擲上鑲板的房頂，
使天花板的圖案也模糊不清。
大片海水浸過的木料灑上銅粉
青青黃黃地亮着，四周鑲着的五彩石上，
又雕刻着的海豚在愁慘的光中遊泳。
那古舊的壁爐架上展現着一幅
猶如開窗所見的田野景物，
那是翡緑眉拉變了形，遭到了野蠻國王的
強暴：但是在那裏那頭夜鶯
她那不容玷辱的聲音充滿了整個沙漠，
她還在叫喚着，世界也還在追逐着，
“唧唧”唱給髒耳朵聽。
其它那些時間的枯樹根
在墻上留下了記認；凝視的人像
探出身來，斜倚着，使緊閉的房間一片靜寂。
樓梯上有人在拖着腳步走。
在火光下，刷子下，她的頭髮
散成了火星似的小點子
亮成詞句，然後又轉而為野蠻的沉寂。
“今晚上我精神很壞。是的，壞。陪着我。
跟我說話。為什麽總不說話。說啊。
你在想什麽？想什麽？什麽？
我從來不知道你在想什麽。想。”
我想我們是在老鼠窩裏，
在那裏死人連自己的屍骨都丟得精光。
“這是什麽聲音？”
風在門下面。
“這又是什麽聲音？風在幹什麽？”
沒有，沒有什麽。
“你
“你什麽都不知道？什麽都沒看見？什麽都
不記得？”
我記得
那些珍珠是他的眼睛。
“你是活的還是死的？你的腦子裏竟沒有什麽？”
可是
噢噢噢噢這莎士比希亞式的爵士音樂——
它是這樣文靜
這樣聰明
“我現在該做些什麽？我該做些什麽？
我就照現在這樣跑出去，走在街上
披散着頭髮，就這樣。我們明天該作些什麽？
我們究竟該作些什麽？”
十點鐘供開水。
如果下雨，四點鐘來挂不進雨的汽車。
我們也要下一盤棋，
按住不知安息的眼睛，等着那一下敲門的聲音。
麗兒的丈夫退伍的時候，我說——
我毫不含糊，我自己就對她說，
請快些，時間到了
埃爾伯特不久就要回來，你就打扮打扮吧。
他也要知道給你鑲牙的錢
是怎麽花的。他給的時候我也在。
把牙都拔了吧，麗兒，配一副好的，
他說，實在的，你那樣子我真看不得。
我也看不得，我說，替可憐的埃爾伯特想一想，
他在軍隊裏耽了四年，他想痛快痛快，
你不讓他痛快，有的是別人，我說。
啊，是嗎，她說。就是這麽回事。我說。
那我就知道該感謝誰了，她說，嚮我瞪了一眼。
請快些，時間到了
你不願意，那就聽便吧，我說。
你沒有可挑的，人傢還能挑挑揀揀呢。
要是埃爾伯特跑掉了，可別怪我沒說。
你真不害鱢，我說，看上去這麽老相。
（她還衹三十一。）
沒辦法，她說，把臉拉得長長的，
是我吃的那藥片，為打胎，她說。
（她已經有了五個。小喬治差點送了她的命。）
藥店老闆說不要緊，可我再也不比從前了。
你真是個傻瓜，我說。
得了，埃爾伯特總是纏着你，結果就是如此，我說，
不要孩子你幹嗎結婚？
請快些，時間到了
說起來了，那天星期天埃爾伯特在傢，他們吃滾燙的燒火腿，
他們叫我去吃飯，叫我乘熱吃——
請快些，時間到了
請快些，時間到了
明兒見，畢爾。明兒見，璐。明兒見，梅。明兒見。
再見。明兒見，明兒見。
明天見，太太們，明天見，可愛的太太們，明天見，明天見。
三、火誡
河上樹木搭成的蓬帳已破壞：樹葉留下的最後手指
想抓住什麽，又沉落到潮濕的岸邊去了。那風
吹過棕黃色的大地，沒人聽見。仙女們已經走了。
可愛的泰晤士，輕輕地流，等我唱完了歌。
河上不再有空瓶子，加肉面包的薄紙，
綢手帕，硬的紙皮匣子，香煙頭
或其他夏夜的證據。仙女們已經走了。
還有她們的朋友，最後幾個城裏老闆們的後代；
走了，也沒有留下地址。
在萊芒湖畔我坐下來飲泣……
可愛的泰晤士，輕輕地流，等我唱完了歌。
可愛的泰晤士，輕輕地流，我說話的聲音不會大，也不會多。
可是在我身後的冷風裏我聽見
白骨碰白骨的聲音，慝笑從耳旁傳開去。
一頭老鼠輕輕穿過草地
在岸上拖着它那粘濕的肚皮
而我卻在某個鼕夜，在一傢煤氣廠背後
在死水裏垂釣
想到國王我那兄弟的沉舟
又想到在他之前的國王，我父親的死亡。
白身軀赤裸裸地在低濕的地上，
白骨被拋在一個矮小而乾燥的閣樓上，
衹有老鼠腳在那裏踢來踢去，年復一年。
但是在我背後我時常聽見
喇叭和汽車的聲音，將在
春天裏，把薛維尼送到博爾特太太那裏。
啊月亮照在博爾特太太
和她女兒身上是亮的
她們在蘇打水裏洗腳
啊這些孩子們的聲音，在教堂裏歌唱！
吱吱吱
唧唧唧唧唧唧
受到這樣的強暴。
鐵盧
並無實體的城
在鼕日正午的黃霧下
尤吉尼地先生，哪個士麥那商人
還沒光臉，袋裏裝滿了葡萄幹
到岸價格，倫敦：見票即付，
用粗俗的法語請我
在凱能街飯店吃午飯
然後在大都會度周末。
在那暮色蒼茫的時刻，眼與背脊
從桌邊嚮上擡時，這血肉製成的引擎在等侯
像一輛出租汽車顫抖而等候時，
我，帖瑞西士，雖然瞎了眼，在兩次生命中顫動，
年老的男子卻有布滿皺紋的女性乳房，能在
暮色蒼茫的時刻看見晚上一到都朝着
傢的方向走去，水手從海上回到傢，
打字員到喝茶的時候也回了傢，打掃早點的殘餘，點燃了她的爐子，拿出罐頭食品。
窗外危險地晾着
她快要曬幹的內衣，給太陽的殘光撫摸着，
沙發上堆着（晚上是她的床）
襪子，拖鞋，小背心和用以束緊身的內衣。
我，帖瑞西士，年老的男子長着皺褶的乳房
看到了這段情節，預言了後來的一切——
我也在等待那盼望着的客人。
他，那長疙瘩的青年到了，
一個小公司的職員，一雙色膽包天的眼，
一個下流傢夥，蠻有把握，
正像一頂綢帽扣在一個布雷德福的百萬富翁頭上。
時機現在倒是合式，他猜對了，
飯已經吃完，她厭倦又疲乏，
試着撫摸撫摸她
雖說不受歡迎，也沒受到責駡。
臉也紅了，决心也下了，他立即進攻；
探險的雙手沒遇到阻礙；
他的虛榮心並不需要報答，
還歡迎這種漠然的神情。
（我，帖瑞西士，都早就忍受過了，
就在這張沙發或床上扮演過的；
我，那曾在底比斯的墻下坐過的
又曾在最卑微的死人中走過的。）
最後又送上形同施捨似的一吻，
他摸着去路，發現樓梯上沒有燈……
她回頭在鏡子裏照了一下，
沒大意識到她那已經走了的情人；
她的頭腦讓一個半成形的思想經過：
“總算玩了事：完了就好。”
美麗的女人墮落的時候，又
在她的房裏來回走，獨自
她機械地用手撫平了頭髮，又隨手
在留聲機上放上一張片子。
“這音樂在水上悄悄從我身旁經過”
經過斯特蘭德，直到女王維多利亞街。
啊，城啊城，我有時能聽見
在泰晤士下街的一傢酒店旁
那悅耳的曼陀鈴的哀鳴
還有裏面的碗盞聲，人語聲
是漁販子到了中午在休息：那裏
殉道堂的墻上還有
難以言傳的伊沃寧的榮華，白的與金黃色的。
長河流汗
流油與焦油
船衹漂泊
順着來浪
紅帆
大張
順風而下，在沉重的桅桿上搖擺。
船衹衝洗
漂流的巨木
流到格林威治河區
經過群犬島。
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
伊麗莎白和萊斯特
打着槳
船尾形成
一枚鑲金的貝殼
紅而金亮
活潑的波濤
使兩岸起了細浪
西南風
帶到下遊
連續的鐘聲
白色的危塔
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
“電車和堆滿灰塵的樹。
海勃裏生了我。裏其蒙和邱
毀了我。在裏其蒙我舉起雙膝
仰臥在獨木舟的船底。
“我的腳在摩爾該，我的心
在我的腳下。那件事後
他哭了。他答應‘重新做人’。
我不作聲。我該怨恨什麽呢？”
“在馬該沙灘
我能夠把
烏有和烏有聯結在一起
髒手上的破碎指甲。
我們是夥下等人，從不指望
什麽。”
啊呀看哪
於是我到迦太基來了
燒啊燒啊燒啊燒啊
主啊你把我救拔出來
主啊你救拔
燒啊
四、水裏的死亡
腓尼基人弗萊巴斯，死了已兩星期，
忘記了水鷗的鳴叫，深海的浪濤
利潤與虧損。
海下一潮流
在悄聲剔淨他的骨。在他浮上又沉下時
他經歷了他老年和青年的階段
進入漩渦。
外邦人還是猶太人
啊你轉着舵輪朝着風的方向看的，
回顧一下弗萊巴斯，他曾經是和你一樣漂亮、高大的。
五、雷霆的話
火把把流汗的面龐照得通紅以後
花園裏是那寒霜般的沉寂以後
經過了岩石地帶的悲痛以後
又是叫喊又是呼號
監獄宮殿和春雷的
回響在遠山那邊震蕩
他當時是活着的現在是死了
我們曾經是活着的現在也快要死了
稍帶一點耐心
這裏沒有水衹有岩石
岩石而沒有水而有一條沙路
那路在上面山裏繞行
是岩石堆成的山而沒有水
若還有水我們就會停下來喝了
在岩石中間人不能停止或思想
汗是幹的腳埋在沙土裏
衹要岩石中間有水
死了的山滿口都是齲齒吐不出一滴水
這裏的人既不能站也不能躺也不能坐
山上甚至連靜默也不存在
衹有枯幹的雷沒有雨
山上甚至連寂寞也不存在
衹有絳紅陰沉的臉在冷笑咆哮
在泥幹縫獵的房屋的門裏出現
衹要有水
而沒有岩石
若是有岩石
也有水
有水
有泉
岩石間有小水潭
若是衹有水的響聲
不是知了
和枯草同唱
而是水的聲音在岩石上
那裏有蜂雀類的畫眉在松樹間歌唱
點滴點滴滴滴滴
可是沒有水
誰是那個總是走在你身旁的第三人？
我數的時候，衹有你和我在一起
但是我朝前望那白顔色的路的時候
總有另外一個在你身旁走
悄悄地行進，裹着棕黃色的大衣，罩着頭
我不知道他是男人還是女人
——但是在你另一邊的那一個是誰？
這是什麽聲音在高高的天上
是慈母悲傷的呢喃聲
這些帶頭罩的人群是誰
在無邊的平原上蜂擁而前，在裂開的土地上蹣跚而行
衹給那扁平的水平綫包圍着
山的那邊是哪一座城市
在紫色暮色中開裂、重建又爆炸
傾塌着的城樓
耶路撒冷雅典亞力山大
維也納倫敦
並無實體的
一個女人緊緊拉直着她黑長的頭髮
在這些弦上彈撥出低聲的音樂
長着孩子臉的蝙蝠在紫色的光裏
嗖嗖地飛撲着翅膀
又把頭朝下爬下一垛烏黑的墻
倒挂在空氣裏的那些城樓
敲着引起回憶的鐘，報告時刻
還有聲音在空的水池、幹的井裏歌唱。
在山間那個壞損的洞裏
在幽黯的月光下，草兒在倒塌的
墳墓上唱歌，至於教堂
則是有一個空的教堂，僅僅是風的傢。
它沒有窗子，門是擺動着的，
枯骨傷害不了人。
衹有一隻公雞站在屋脊上
咯咯喔喔咯咯喔喔
刷的來了一炷閃電。然後是一陣濕風
帶來了雨
恆河水位下降了，那些疲軟的葉子
在等着雨來，而烏黑的濃雲
在遠處集合在喜馬望山上。
叢林在靜默中拱着背蹲伏着。
然後雷霆說了話
DA
Datta：我們給了些什麽？
我的朋友，熱血震動着我的心
這片刻之間獻身的非凡勇氣
是一個謹慎的時代永遠不能收回的
就憑這一點，也衹有這一點，我們是存在了
這是我們的訃告裏找不到的
不會在慈祥的蛛網披蓋着的回憶裏
也不會在瘦瘦的律師拆開的密封下
在我們空空的屋子裏
DA
Dayadhvam：我聽見那鑰匙
在門裏轉動了一次，衹轉動了一次
我們想到這把鑰匙，各人在自己的監獄裏
想着這把鑰匙，各人守着一座監獄
衹在黃昏的時候，世外傳來的聲音
纔使一個已經粉碎了的柯裏歐萊納思一度重生
DA
Damyata：那條船歡快地
作出反應，順着那使帆用槳老練的手
海是平靜的，你的心也會歡快地
作出反應，在受到邀請時，會隨着
引導着的雙手而跳動
我坐在岸上
垂釣，背後是那片幹旱的平原
我應否至少把我的田地收拾好？
倫敦橋塌下來了塌下來了塌下來了
然後，他就隱身在煉他們的火裏，
我什麽時候才能象燕子——啊，燕子，燕子，
阿基坦的王子在塔樓裏受到廢黜
這些片斷我用來支撐我的斷垣殘壁
那麽我就照辦吧。希羅尼母又發瘋了。
捨己為人。同情。剋製。
平安。平安
平安。
vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo."
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
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 dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10
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 archduke'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 the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20
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;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30
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
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had 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,
The lady of situations. 50
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 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.
Unreal City, 60
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!
"You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70
"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?
Line 42 Od'] Oed' - Editor.
"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 frere!"
II. A GAME OF CHESS
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended 90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"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.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110
"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
"Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
"What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
"I never know what you are thinking. Think."
I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
"What is that noise?"
The wind under the door.
"What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?"
Nothing again nothing. 120
"Do
"You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
"Nothing?"
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
"Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?"
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag -
It's so elegant
So intelligent 130
"What shall I do now? What shall I do?"
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
"With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
"What shall we ever do?"
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said -
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot -
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
III. THE FIRE SERMON
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.
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; 180
Departed, have left no addresses.
Line 161 ALRIGHT. This spelling occurs also in
the Hogarth Press edition - Editor.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
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 190
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
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
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
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,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
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. 230
He, the young man carbuncular, 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.
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; 240
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; 250
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 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"
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
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 hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails 270
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
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars 280
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 290
Wallala leialala
"Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."
"My feet are at Moorgate, 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. 300
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing."
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest 310
burning
IV. DEATH BY WATER
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
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.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
After 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 mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330
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
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 340
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 350
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 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? 360
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 earth 370
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 380
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, 390
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
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder 400
DA
Datta: 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
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms 410
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
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, aetherial rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar 420
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
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
Quando fiam ceu chelidon - O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie 430
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
Line 416 aetherial] aethereal
Line 429 ceu] uti - Editor
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 (Macmillan).<1> 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.
<1> Macmillan] Cambridge.
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
Line 20. Cf. Ezekiel 2:1.
23. Cf. Ecclesiastes 12:5.
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 reves,
Ou le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant."
63. Cf. Inferno, iii. 55-7.
"si lunga tratta
di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto
che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta."
64. Cf. Inferno, iv. 25-7:
"Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare,
"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 .
76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mal.
II. A GAME OF CHESS
77. Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, II. ii., l. 190.
92. Laquearia. V. Aeneid, I. 726:
dependent lychni laquearibus aureis incensi, et noctem flammis
funalia vincunt.
98. Sylvan scene. V. Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 140.
99. V. Ovid, Metamorphoses, vi, Philomela.
100. Cf. Part III, l. 204.
115. Cf. Part III, l. 195.
118. Cf. Webster: "Is the wind in that door still?"
126. Cf. Part I, l. 37, 48.
138. Cf. the game of chess in Middleton's Women beware Women.
III. THE FIRE SERMON
176. V. Spenser, Prothalamion.
192. Cf. The Tempest, I. ii.
196. Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress.
197. Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees:
"When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear,
"A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring
"Actaeon to Diana in the spring,
"Where all shall see her naked skin . . ."
199. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines
are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia.
202. V. Verlaine, Parsifal.
210. The currants were quoted at a price "carriage and insurance
free to London"; and the Bill of Lading etc. were to be handed
to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft.
Notes 196 and 197 were transposed in this and the Hogarth Press edition,
but have been corrected here.
210. "Carriage and insurance free"] "cost, insurance and freight"-Editor.
218. Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a "character,"
is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest.
Just as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into
the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct
from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman,
and the two sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees, in fact,
is the substance of the poem. The whole passage from Ovid is
of great anthropological interest:
'. . . Cum Iunone iocos et maior vestra profecto est
Quam, quae contingit maribus,' dixisse, 'voluptas.'
Illa negat; placuit quae sit sententia docti
Quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.
Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva
Corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu
Deque viro factus, mirabile, femina septem
Egerat autumnos; octavo rursus eosdem
Vidit et 'est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae,'
Dixit 'ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,
Nunc quoque vos feriam!' percussis anguibus isdem
Forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.
Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa
Dicta Iovis firmat; gravius Saturnia iusto
Nec pro materia fertur doluisse suique
Iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte,
At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam
Facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto
Scire futura dedit poenamque levavit honore.
221. This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had in mind
the "longshore" or "dory" fisherman, who returns at nightfall.
253. V. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield.
257. V. The Tempest, as above.
264. The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of
the finest among Wren's interiors. See The Proposed Demolition
of Nineteen City Churches (P. S. King & Son, Ltd.).
266. The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here.
From line 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn.
V. Gutterdsammerung, III. i: the Rhine-daughters.
279. V. Froude, Elizabeth, Vol. I, ch. iv, letter of De Quadra
to Philip of Spain:
"In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on the river.
(The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop,
when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert
at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they
should not be married if the queen pleased."
293. Cf. Purgatorio, v. 133:
"Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;
Siena mi fe', disfecemi Maremma."
307. V. St. Augustine's Confessions: "to Carthage then I came,
where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears."
308. The complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon (which corresponds
in importance to the Sermon on the Mount) from which these words are taken,
will be found translated in the late Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism
in Translation (Harvard Oriental Series). Mr. Warren was one
of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in the Occident.
309. From St. Augustine's Confessions again. The collocation
of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism,
as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.
V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
In the first part of Part V three themes are employed:
the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous
(see Miss Weston's book) and the present decay of eastern Europe.
357. This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush
which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of
Birds of Eastern North America) "it is most at home in secluded
woodland and thickety retreats. . . . Its notes are not remarkable
for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and
exquisite modulation they are unequalled." Its "water-dripping song"
is justly celebrated.
360. The following lines were stimulated by the account of one
of the Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one
of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers,
at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion
that there was one more member than could actually be counted.
367-77. Cf. Hermann Hesse, Blick ins Chaos:
"Schon ist halb Europa, schon ist zumindest der halbe Osten Europas auf dem
Wege zum Chaos, f鋒rt betrunken im heiligem Wahn am Abgrund entlang
und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnisch wie Dmitri Karamasoff sang.
Ueber diese Lieder lacht der B黵ger beleidigt, der Heilige
und Seher h鰎t sie mit Tr鋘en."
402. "Datta, dayadhvam, damyata" (Give, sympathize,
control). The fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found
in the Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad, 5, 1. A translation is found
in Deussen's Sechzig Upanishads des Veda, p. 489.
408. Cf. Webster, The White Devil, v. vi:
". . . they'll remarry
Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider
Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs."
412. Cf. Inferno, xxxiii. 46:
"ed io sentii chiavar l'uscio di sotto
all'orribile torre."
Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 346:
"My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my
thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within
my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its
elements alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround
it. . . . In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul,
the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul."
425. V. Weston, From Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King.
428. V. Purgatorio, xxvi. 148.
"'Ara vos prec per aquella valor
'que vos guida al som de l'escalina,
'sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor.'
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina."
429. V. Pervigilium Veneris. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III.
430. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado.
432. V. Kyd's Spanish Tragedy.
434. Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad.
'The Peace which passeth understanding' is a feeble translation
of the content of this word.