LISTSERV mailing list manager LISTSERV 16.0

Help for TSE Archives


TSE Archives

TSE Archives


TSE@PO.MISSOURI.EDU


View:

Message:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

By Topic:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

By Author:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

Font:

Monospaced Font

LISTSERV Archives

LISTSERV Archives

TSE Home

TSE Home

TSE  January 2002

TSE January 2002

Subject:

Re: FQ by the numbers

From:

"Jose Pereira" <[log in to unmask]>

Date:

Tue, 08 Jan 2002 15:38:18 +0000

Content-Type:

text/plain

Parts/Attachments:

Parts/Attachments

text/plain (349 lines)

This is a multi-part message in MIME format.

------=_NextPart_000_560e_3397_4d0f
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed


In no way did I intend to hurt your feelings or speak on behalf of other
listmembers.

You may understand that after reading your note about the enlightening and
idea-provoking way of reading FQ in this particular way I was quite
naturally expecting to find these provoked thoughts (traces of
enlightment?)at the end of your own posting, but failed in doing so.

It's my own point to which I still adhere (not imposing it on anyone on this
list, however), that quoting poetry without a commentary may not be quite as
useful, or thought-provoking, or enlightening, as it would have been if the
commentary is attempted in the first place. As simple as that.

Sorry again if I have involuntarily caused a misunderstanding.

Cheers

J.

PS. For a change, could I suggest that we read EC with "In my end is my
beginning" as an opening line? And proceed this way to the very beginning
where it (the beginnig) actually proves to be "The end"?
I found EC laid out in this particular way very thought-provoking lately:-))




>From: "Jose Pereira" <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: [log in to unmask]
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: FQ by the numbers (Parts I)
>Date: Mon, 07 Jan 2002 18:30:24 +0000
>




_________________________________________________________________
MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos:
http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx

------=_NextPart_000_560e_3397_4d0f
Content-Type: message/rfc822

>From [log in to unmask] Mon, 07 Jan 2002 10:31:29 -0800
Received: from [128.206.12.137] by hotmail.com (3.2) with ESMTP id MHotMailBE03345B004F4004371F80CE0C890B590; Mon, 07 Jan 2002 10:30:52 -0800
Received: from host (localhost [127.0.0.1])
by po.missouri.edu (8.11.6/8.11.6) with SMTP id g07IUaH00354;
Mon, 7 Jan 2002 12:30:36 -0600
Received: from hotmail.com (f100.law9.hotmail.com [64.4.9.100])
by po.missouri.edu (8.11.6/8.11.6) with SMTP id g07IUUH32724
for <[log in to unmask]>; Mon, 7 Jan 2002 12:30:30 -0600
Received: from mail pickup service by hotmail.com with Microsoft SMTPSVC;
Mon, 7 Jan 2002 10:30:24 -0800
Received: from 213.121.88.65 by lw9fd.law9.hotmail.msn.com with HTTP;
Mon, 07 Jan 2002 18:30:24 GMT
Message-Id: <[log in to unmask]>
Date: Mon, 07 Jan 2002 18:30:24 +0000
Reply-To: [log in to unmask]
Sender: [log in to unmask]
Precedence: bulk
From: "Jose Pereira" <[log in to unmask]>
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: FQ by the numbers (Parts I)
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/html
X-Originating-IP: [213.121.88.65]
X-OriginalArrivalTime: 07 Jan 2002 18:30:24.0755 (UTC) FILETIME=[5F51D430:01C197A9]
X-Listprocessor-Version: 8.1 -- ListProcessor(tm) by CREN

<html><div style='background-color:'><DIV>
<P>&nbsp;</P>
<P>Thanx a lot, but I got it in my personal library and in several editions<IMG height=12 src="http://graphics.hotmail.com/emsmile.gif" width=12>&nbsp;So do to my knowledge all the other listmembers too, at least those who are active.</P>
<P>Would love to hear your comment on the text rather than see the text once again, this time in my mailbox.</P>
<P>Jose</P>
<P><BR><BR>&nbsp;</P></DIV>
<DIV></DIV>
<DIV></DIV>&gt;From: [log in to unmask]
<DIV></DIV>&gt;Reply-To: [log in to unmask]
<DIV></DIV>&gt;To: <[log in to unmask]>
<DIV></DIV>&gt;Subject: Re: FQ by the numbers (Parts I)
<DIV></DIV>&gt;Date: Mon, 07 Jan 2002 12:08:23 EST
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;Some recent posts have reminded me of the value of reading FQ out of the intended sequence: specifically, all the Parts I together, etc.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;I've done this from time to time and have found it enlightening (or at least thought-provoking) each time.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;It's also a bit inconvenient, though, especially if one tries to do a line-by-line comparison.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;For my own purposes, I've done a cut-and-paste to facilitate this sort of review. I send it along in case it may be useful to anyone else. If I come up with anything I consider interesting on my read through, I'll pass it along and, of course, hope you'll do the same.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;I'm sending each Part as a separate email, named "FQ by the numbers (Parts I, II, etc.") I hope the formatting does not prevent its use by anyone who might be interested.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;Tom K
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;PARTS ONE
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; BURNT NORTON
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Time present and time past
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Are both perhaps present in time future,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And time future contained in time past.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If all time is eternally present
<DIV></DIV>&gt; All time is unredeemable.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; What might have been is an abstraction
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Remaining a perpetual possibility
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Only in a world of speculation.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; What might have been and what has been
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Point to one end, which is always present.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Footfalls echo in the memory
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Down the passage which we did not take
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Towards the door we never opened
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Into the rose-garden. My words echo
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Thus, in your mind.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; But to what purpose
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I do not know.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Other echoes
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Round the corner. Through the first gate,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Into our first world, shall we follow
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; There they were, dignified, invisible,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Moving without pressure, over the leaves,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the bird called, in response to
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; To look down into the drained pool.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The surface glittered out of heart of light,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Cannot bear very much reality.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Time past and time future
<DIV></DIV>&gt; What might have been and what has been
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Point to one end, which is always present.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; EAST COKER
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In my beginning is my end. In succession
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Which is already flesh, fur and faeces,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Houses live and die: there is a time for building
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And a time for living and for generation
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the deep lane insists on the direction
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Into the village, in the electric heat
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Wait for the early owl.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In that open field
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Of the weak pipe and the little drum
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And see them dancing around the bonfire
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The association of man and woman
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In daunsinge, signifying matrimonieE&gt; A dignified and commodiois sacrament.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Two and two, necessarye coniunction,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Holding eche other by the hand or the arm
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Mirth of those long since under earth
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Nourishing the corn. Keeping time,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
<DIV></DIV>&gt; As in their living in the living seasons
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The time of the seasons and the constellations
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The time of milking and the time of harvest
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The time of the coupling of man and woman
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Eating and drinking. Dung and .
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Dawn points, and another day
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Wrinkles and slides. I am here
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; THE DRY SALVAGES
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; (The Dry Salvages—presumably les trois sauvages—is a small
<DIV></DIV>&gt; group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape Ann,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Massachusetts. Salvages is pronounced to rhyme with assuages.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Groaner: a whistling buoy.)
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
<DIV></DIV>&gt; By the dwellers in cities—ever, however, implacable.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Of what men choose to forget. Unhonoured, unpropitiated
<DIV></DIV>&gt; By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; His rhythm was present in the nursery bedroom,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In the rank ailanthus of the April dooryard,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In the smell of grapes on the autumn table,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the evening circle in the winter gaslight.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The river is within us, the sea is all about us;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The sea is the land's edge also, the granite
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Its hints of earlier and other creation:
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The starfish, the horseshoe crab, the whale's backbone;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The pools where it offers to our curiosity
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The more delicate algae and the sea anemone.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; It tosses up our losses, the torn seine,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The shattered lobsterpot, the broken oar
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the gear of foreign men. The sea has many voices,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Many gods and many voices.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The salt is on the briar rose,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The fog is in the fir trees.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The sea howl
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the sea yelp, are different voices
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Often together heard: the whine in the rigging,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The menace and caress of wave that breaks on water,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The distant rote in the granite teeth,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the wailing warning from the approaching headland
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Are all sea voices, and the heaving groaner
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Rounded homewards, and the seagull:
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And under the oppression of the silent fog
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The tolling bell
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Measures time not our time, rung by the unhurried
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Ground swell, a time
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Older than the time of chronometers, older
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Than time counted by anxious worried women
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Lying awake, calculating the future,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And piece together the past and the future,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The future futureless, before the morning watch
<DIV></DIV>&gt; When time stops and time is never ending;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the ground swell, that is and was from the beginning,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Clangs
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The bell.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; LITTLE GIDDING
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; I
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Midwinter spring is its own season
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Reflecting in a watery mirror
<DIV></DIV>&gt; A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
<DIV></DIV>&gt; In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
<DIV></DIV>&gt; The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
<DIV></DIV>&gt; But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Of snow, a bloom more sudden
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Not in the scheme of generation.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Where is the summer, the unimaginable
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Zero summer?
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you came this way,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Taking the route you would be likely to take
<DIV></DIV>&gt; From the place you would be likely to come from,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
<DIV></DIV>&gt; White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; It would be the same at the end of the journey,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you came at night like a broken king,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
<DIV></DIV>&gt; From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If at all. Either you had no purpose
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a cityE&gt; But this is the nearest, in place and time,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Now and in England.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt; If you came this way,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; At any time or at any season,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; It would always be the same: you would have to put off
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Or carry report. You are here to kneel
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; And what the had no speech for, when living,
<DIV></DIV>&gt; They can tell you, being : the communication
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Of the is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
<DIV></DIV>&gt; Is England and nowhere. Never and always.
<DIV></DIV>&gt;
<DIV></DIV>&gt;###
<DIV></DIV></div><br clear=all><hr>Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: <a href='http://go.msn.com/bql/hmtag2_etl_EN.asp'>Click Here</a><br></html>


------=_NextPart_000_560e_3397_4d0f--

Top of Message | Previous Page | Permalink

Advanced Options


Options

Log In

Log In

Get Password

Get Password


Search Archives

Search Archives


Subscribe or Unsubscribe

Subscribe or Unsubscribe


Archives

December 2019
November 2019
October 2019
September 2019
August 2019
July 2019
June 2019
May 2019
April 2019
March 2019
February 2019
January 2019
December 2018
November 2018
October 2018
September 2018
August 2018
July 2018
June 2018
May 2018
April 2018
March 2018
February 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
November 2016
October 2016
September 2016
August 2016
July 2016
June 2016
May 2016
April 2016
March 2016
February 2016
January 2016
December 2015
November 2015
October 2015
September 2015
August 2015
July 2015
June 2015
May 2015
April 2015
March 2015
February 2015
January 2015
December 2014
November 2014
October 2014
September 2014
August 2014
July 2014
June 2014
May 2014
April 2014
March 2014
February 2014
January 2014
December 2013
November 2013
October 2013
September 2013
August 2013
July 2013
June 2013
May 2013
April 2013
March 2013
February 2013
January 2013
December 2012
November 2012
October 2012
September 2012
August 2012
July 2012
June 2012
May 2012
April 2012
March 2012
February 2012
January 2012
December 2011
November 2011
October 2011
September 2011
August 2011
July 2011
June 2011
May 2011
April 2011
March 2011
February 2011
January 2011
December 2010
November 2010
October 2010
September 2010
August 2010
July 2010
June 2010
May 2010
April 2010
March 2010
February 2010
January 2010
December 2009
November 2009
October 2009
September 2009
August 2009
July 2009
June 2009
May 2009
April 2009
March 2009
February 2009
January 2009
December 2008
November 2008
October 2008
September 2008
August 2008
July 2008
June 2008
May 2008
April 2008
March 2008
February 2008
January 2008
December 2007
November 2007
October 2007
September 2007
August 2007
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
May 2003
April 2003
March 2003
February 2003
January 2003
December 2002
November 2002
October 2002
September 2002
August 2002
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
December 2001
November 2001
October 2001
September 2001
August 2001
July 2001
June 2001
May 2001
April 2001
March 2001
February 2001
January 2001
March 1996
February 1996
January 1996
December 1995
November 1995

ATOM RSS1 RSS2



PO.MISSOURI.EDU

Secured by F-Secure Anti-Virus CataList Email List Search Powered by the LISTSERV Email List Manager