The Waste Land

T. S. Eliot

• Editorial: Open Road Media
• Año: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781504050197
• Categoría: Literatura
• Categoría: Poesía americana

The masterpiece of Modernist poetry, offering a profound and kaleidoscopic meditation on Western life in the aftershocks of World War I. Famous for juxtaposing Eastern cultures with Western literary references, T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land has been celebrated for its eloquence, depth of meaning, and endlessly interwoven subtleties. Rich with allusions to the religious texts of Hinduism and Buddhism, Western literature, and Eliot's own life, the poem continues to provoke, inspire, and delight. First published in 1922, The Waste Land quickly ascending to the status of literary classic. It is widely considered to be Eliot's finest work, representing maturity in his style and confidence in both expression and research. This ebook has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.

The Waste Land

T. S. Eliot

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

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,

You cannot 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 red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your 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?

“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.

Oed’ und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,

Had a bad cold, nevertheless

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,

Is your...