THE HOLLOW MEN Mistah Kurtz—he dead. A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to deaths other Kingdom Remember us—if at all—not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men. II Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In deaths dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the winds singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In deaths dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rats coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer— Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom III This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead mans hand Under the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In deaths other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. IV The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of deaths twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five oclock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper. ~ as by an American-Born Citizen-of-The-World and one of The Major Poets of Le Vingtième Siècle (“The Twentieth Century [XXe Siècle / ‘C20’]”): Essayist, Publisher, Playwright and Literary / Social Critic THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT (b[irthed] 1888—d[eceased] 1965; Ordre du Mérite [Order of Merit] Recipient: Such being a Dynastic Order Recognizing Distinguished Service in The Armed Forces, Science, Art, Literature and / or Promotion of Culture; as so Established circa Anno Domini 1902 Commonal Èræ by HIS MAJESTY KING EDWARD VII ALBERT CHRISTIAN GEORGE ANDREW PATRICK DAVID [b1894—d1972; Sovereign of The United Kingdom of Greater Britain & Northern Ireland and The Dominions of The Ænglish-Speaking Commonwealth of Nations as well as Emperor of India: 1936 – Abdicating Crown Within The Year on Matrimonial Union with his Jewish-American Bride – Thereafter Duke of Windsor & NAtional-SoƵIalistiche Deutsche Arbeiter-Partei, or National Socialist German Workers Party Collaborator; Originally With Intent toward Reclamation of The Throne: 1936—1972] – Admission Into The Order Remaining Today The Personal Gift of its Monarch as Restricted to a Maximum of Twenty-Four [24] Living Recipients from The Monarchs Realm[s] plus a Limited Number of Honorary Members [Inclusive of TS Eliot]). --- Douglas Duane Dietrich
Posted on: Sun, 19 Jan 2014 17:16:25 +0000
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