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Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Room 224

The Waste Land

April is the uncruelest month,
Breeding mixing stirring feeding
Lilacs land memory and desire
And roots are dull with springing rain.
We were caught in a coffee quandry,
tranced into the Hoftgarten,
where sunlight and sun surprised, smiled,
and let us chat in Russin unt Deutsch,
Unt coffee flowed into ourselves,
warming firing, and we stopped,
when April, with flaming hair,
broke out in joyous French. Fear
caught me by my tickling scrotum.
He, she adjured me to calm
as we sped on the sled into the terrible dark -
High high in snow freedom.
Deep at night I invade my books
and Westward walk
in that awful other season. Some go North.

What clutches grows inverted trees
Wierdly from all this ashly crumblings?
You. Yes, you - to you I speak. You
Will never have the knowing. No, no,
Never shalt thou know: for in your gloomed
Skull a pantomime is played -
Outside where beats down heat
There is no watering place, no holing up -
No where can be found the leastest trickle
In the rocks of gods
In the garden of rocks
In the harsh unshadowed land
Where I have forgotten
How this strange conjunction
Of striding morning shadows,
Inverting rising in meeting,
Was revealed to me - in a handful of -
A man with a blazing brow
Showed me fear in transformal
Primal dust, until, after the rain of red rocks,
I writhed in Wagnerian,
That Hitler (and I) so loved. (But we both
loved/feared grails and waters.)
We reappeared at the ending time,
And all applauded -
The the dew sparkling Hyacinths
Had you shine with smile,
And another god impelled this All-
And vast the silence, the heart:
The sacred sacred heart
- We were unsighted by this fire.
Vast sea, empty sea -
In your green visions we untounged
- Searched we our hearts,
Nothing knowing of the core, the centre,
The nexus of stasis,
The thunder of the drumming of unsound.
Das Meer is unt Leer,
Unt Lear was crazed with blinded knowing -
(This much we know, as we are darked.)

Madam Sosostris had the flu,
And coughed like a wicked witch.
She was a bitch and played her fateful cards.
All the ages, all meanings, took on new life,
Including Thunder, way over Dark Mountain,
And we crouched who fell
Back into our fervent religious shell.
(I Tiresias, drinker of waking blood,
Wither in all dimensions, being regenerative -
Corpsed was Clov’s word -)
Uga uga jug jug jug.
Life life life - sex is fill of complex -
broken bottles and Cleopatric rats.
Fear The Dog, Watch It Phlebas. .
Da Dadhatta Dhayaardvam.
Raise to 3 powers Shantih.

Richard Taylor.

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