The Burial of the Dead
Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla
ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
keine Russin, stamm aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archdukes,
cousins, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down
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,1
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
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
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.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?2
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,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
leer das Meer.3
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be
the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards.4 Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
lady of situations.
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
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.
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
not thought death had undone so many.6
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,7
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.8
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him,
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
That corpse you planted last year in your
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
keep the Dog far hence, thats friend to men,9
Or with his nails hell dig it up again!
You! hypocrite lecteur!mon
semblable, mon frère!10