Mélange Adultère de Tout // T.S. Eliot

EN Amerique, professeur;          

En Angleterre, journaliste;          

C’est à grands pas et en sueur  

Que vous suivrez à peine ma piste.         

En Yorkshire, conferencier;                

A Londres, un peu banquier,     

Vous me paierez bein la tête.    

C’est à Paris que je me coiffe    

Casque noir de jemenfoutiste. 

En Allemagne, philosophe                  

Au grand air de Bergsteigleben;               

J’erre toujours de-ci de-là           

A divers coups de tra la la            

De Damas jusqu’à Omaha.                  

Je celebrai mon jour de fête      

Dans une oasis d’Afrique             

Vêtu d’une peau de girafe.        

On montrera mon cénotaphe   

Aux côtes brûlantes de Mozambique.            

Le Directeur // T.S. Eliot

MALHEUR à la malheureuse Tamise!      

Qui coule si pres du Spectateur.               

Le directeur       

Conservateur   

Du Spectateur          

Empeste la brise.            

Les actionnaires               

Réactionnaires 

Du Spectateur  

Conservateur          

Bras dessus bras dessous            

Font des tours  

A pas de loup.  

Dans un égout  

Une petite fille        

En guenilles       

Camarde             

Regarde              

Le directeur       

Du Spectateur          

Conservateur   

Et crève d’amour.

"And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured
Of a craving for something I cannot find
And of the shame of never finding it."

T. S. Eliot, from The Cocktail Party (Boulevard Books, 1950)

(Source: larmoyante, via fastreader)

hmhbooks:

The first page of The Waste Land manuscript, when the poem was titled “He Do the Police in Different Voices.” (The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts, ed. Valerie Eliot [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971])

hmhbooks:

The first page of The Waste Land manuscript, when the poem was titled “He Do the Police in Different Voices.” (The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts, ed. Valerie Eliot [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971])

(via hellofheavn)

"

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

"

— from “The Hollow Men”, T.S. Eliot

from “The Hollow Men”, by T.S. Eliot

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

"

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

"

— from “The Hollow Men”, T.S. Eliot

"

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

"

— from “The Hollow Men”, T.S. Eliot

"And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells."

— from “The Waste Land”, T.S. Eliot

"Who 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?"

— from “The Waste Land”, T.S. Eliot