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Re: In memoriam to space shuttle Columbia
From Gunnar Jauch:
 
> Good grief, my dear Pietros--

> what are you DOING on this list?? ;-)
> This is 4Q, EC III (Four Quartets, East Coker III).

> Read 4Q, re-read it, and then come back.
> This is a prerequisite for this list.

 
I thought this list may at least be allowed to function as a starting point for those who try to know more about Eliot and who may not have access to all the texts. Could we at least make an effort for listmembers who may not be experts, but whose posts do at least appear to have something to do with Eliot? However humorous, I don't think the reply quoted above was very helpful.
 
Some people mostly post to the list to churn out garbage about the merits of different nationalities, or the weather in Florida. What are THEY doing on this list?  
 
Yours,
 
RaphaŽl
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----- Original Message -----
From: [log in to unmask]>Gunnar Jauch
To: [log in to unmask]>[log in to unmask]
Sent: Wednesday, February 05, 2003 9:30 AM
Subject: Re: In memoriam to space shuttle Columbia

am 5.2.2003 1:15 Uhr schrieb Pietros Maneos unter :

In a message dated 2/4/2003 12:06:37 PM Pacific Standard Time, [log in to unmask] writes:

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,



Which poem is this from? Wasteland?




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.

And, b.t.w.: Next time, please make it "The Waste Land", ok?


Gunnar