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:

Proportional Font

LISTSERV Archives

LISTSERV Archives

TSE Home

TSE Home

TSE  January 2002

TSE January 2002

Subject:

Re: FQ's by the numbers (Parts III)

From:

[log in to unmask]

Date:

Mon, 07 Jan 2002 12:10:14 EST

Content-Type:

text/plain

Parts/Attachments:

Parts/Attachments

text/plain (210 lines)

PARTS III

    BURNT NORTON

          III

                        Here is a place of disaffection
                        Time before and time after
                        In a dim light: neither daylight
                        Investing form with lucid stillness
                        Turning shadow into transient beauty
                        With slow rotation suggesting permanence
                        Nor darkness to purify the soul
                        Emptying the sensual with deprivation
                        Cleansing affection from the temporal.
                        Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
                        Over the strained time-ridden faces
                        Distracted from distraction by distraction
                        Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
                        Tumid apathy with no concentration
                        Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
                        That blows before and after time,
                        Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
                        Time before and time after.
                        Eructation of unhealthy souls
                        Into the faded air, the torpid
                        Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
                        Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
                        Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
                        Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

                            Descend lower, descend only
                        Into the world of perpetual solitude,
                        World not world, but that which is not world,
                        Internal darkness, deprivation
                        And destitution of all property,
                        Desiccation of the world of sense,
                        Evacuation of the world of fancy,
                        Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
                        This is the one way, and the other
                        Is the same, not in movement
                        But abstention from movement; while the world moves
                        In appetency, on its metalled ways
                        Of time past and time future.


    EAST COKER

           III

                        O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
                        The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
                        The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
                        The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
                        Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
                        Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
                        And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
                        And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
                        And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
                        And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
                        Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
                        I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
                        Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
                        The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
              With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
                        And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
                        And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
               Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
                        And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
                        And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
                        Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
                        Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
                        I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
                        For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
                        For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
                        But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
                        Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
                        So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
                        Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
                        The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
                        The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
                        Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
                        Of death and birth.

                                                            You say I am repeating
                        Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
                        Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
                        To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
                            You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
                        In order to arrive at what you do not know
                            You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
                        In order to possess what you do not possess
                            You must go by the way of dispossession.
                        In order to arrive at what you are not
                            You must go through the way in which you are not.
                        And what you do not know is the only thing you know
                        And what you own is what you do not own
                        And where you are is where you are not.



    THE DRY SALVAGES

           III

                        I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant—
                        Among other things—or one way of putting the same thing:
                        That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
                        Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
                        Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
                        And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.
                        You cannot face it steadily, but this thing is sure,
                        That time is no healer: the patient is no longer here.
                        When the train starts, and the passengers are settled
                        To fruit, periodicals and business letters
                        (And those who saw them off have left the platform)
                        Their faces relax from grief into relief,
                        To the sleepy rhythm of a hundred hours.
                        Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past
                        Into different lives, or into any future;
                        You are not the same people who left that station
                        Or who will arrive at any terminus,
                        While the narrowing rails slide together behind you;
                        And on the deck of the drumming liner
                        Watching the furrow that widens behind you,
                        You shall not think 'the past is finished'
                        Or 'the future is before us'.
                        At nightfall, in the rigging and the aerial,
                        Is a voice descanting (though not to the ear,
                        The murmuring shell of time, and not in any language)
                        'Fare forward, you who think that you are voyaging;
                        You are not those who saw the harbour
                        Receding, or those who will disembark.
                        Here between the hither and the farther shore
                        While time is withdrawn, consider the future
                        And the past with an equal mind.
                        At the moment which is not of action or inaction
                        You can receive this: "on whatever sphere of being
                        The mind of a man may be intent
                        At the time of death"—that is the one action
                        (And the time of death is every moment)
                        Which shall fructify in the lives of others:
                        And do not think of the fruit of action.
                        Fare forward.
                                              O voyagers, O seamen,
                        You who came to port, and you whose bodies
                        Will suffer the trial and judgement of the sea,
                        Or whatever event, this is your real destination.'
                        So Krishna, as when he admonished Arjuna
                        On the field of battle.
                                                          Not fare well,
                        But fare forward, voyagers.

    LITTLE GIDDING

           III

                        There are three conditions which often look alike
                        Yet differ completely, flourish in the same hedgerow:
                        Attachment to self and to things and to persons, detachment
                        From self and from things and from persons; and, growing between            them, indifference
                        Which resembles the others as death resembles life,
                        Being between two lives—unflowering, between
                        The live and the dead nettle. This is the use of memory:
                        For liberation—not less of love but expanding
                        Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
                        From the future as well as the past. Thus, love of a country
                        Begins as attachment to our own field of action
                        And comes to find that action of little importance
                        Though never indifferent. History may be servitude,
                        History may be freedom. See, now they vanish,
                        The faces and places, with the self which, as it could, loved them,
                        To become renewed, transfigured, in another pattern.

                        Sin is Behovely, but
                        All shall be well, and
                        All manner of thing shall be well.
                        If I think, again, of this place,
                        And of people, not wholly commendable,
                        Of no immediate kin or kindness,
                        But of some peculiar genius,
                        All touched by a common genius,
                        United in the strife which divided them;
                        If I think of a king at nightfall,
                        Of three men, and more, on the scaffold
                        And a few who died forgotten
                        In other places, here and abroad,
                        And of one who died blind and quiet
                        Why should we celebrate
                        These dead men more than the dying?
                        It is not to ring the bell backward
                        Nor is it an incantation
                        To summon the spectre of a Rose.
                        We cannot revive old factions
                        We cannot restore old policies
                        Or follow an antique drum.
                        These men, and those who opposed them
                        And those whom they opposed
                        Accept the constitution of silence
                        And are folded in a single party.
                        Whatever we inherit from the fortunate
                        We have taken from the defeated
                        What they had to leave us—a symbol:
                        A symbol perfected in death.
                        And all shall be well and
                        All manner of thing shall be well
                        By the purification of the motive
                        In the ground of our beseeching.

####

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

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