Transelating "The Waste Land" |
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The transelations by stanza 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
0. T.S Eliot "This music crept by me upon the waters" And
along the O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside
a
public bar in The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs
Down Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia Wallala leialala
"Trams and dusty trees. Highbury
bore me. Undid
me. By Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."
"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised 'a new start'. I made no comment. What should I resent?" "On I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing." la la
To
Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
This music stranded me by
waters and along O home home, I can only hear
beside the crosswalk of and and a rish rash from within where men congregate at night, where gold of the Mary Magdalene lies inexplicable grandeur of crystalline white and pure gold. The leaves crunch heel follows toe The breath rises with each stroke of the arm fast paced conditioned To fly, swing on your right. Use mouthwash and determined hands reach down past the Weilalalalala weilalalie Romeo and Juliet beating chests until love was formed a sudden leap red with blood the brisk passion ripped hearts apart the zephyr carried leaves downstream. The echo of laughter white flowers lalalalie walalalalie Train and dusty tracks. We gave birth to you in the morning dew you undid me. By the richest Bible I swear subordinate yourself in a narrow mindset. "My feet are stuck, and my heart races back to the beginning. After it started he wept. He promised an "undying commitment." I made no comment. What could I say? "On this rock stands I should connect two and two together.” The scarred hands of dirty labor. My fingers fumble with expectations emptiness. la lie To O do not forget me throw me out burning.
2. Andy Iser long his gentle saxophone ripping up and down notes, scales, harmonic and grit, real licks of fire coming out of that thing, people shopped, walked store to store, passed the mood, all of them feeling cooler, it’s Christmas on 5th, trees, mistletoe, crosses all out, a beautiful day, the snow melts, the waves press against it harder than any shopper’s foot could, the flakes appreciate the push, influence is strong, the breath comes to an end, one more second is not possible, the music stops, the stores close, everything freezes. One more breath, The arms move, conditions worsen, snow falls like notes ripping through clouds tearing families apart the rough sounds of tritones and minor seconds mixed, Down the street bebedobop, weeeee, bop weeeee, bop bodowahlawewewebebebe BOP! Amazingly someone else plays sax that’s out on the street, he appreciates what the guys playing, he laughs and smiles, and watches him for a bit. The notes get better, the mood becomes happier, art appreciated, snow lessens, shops reopen. Above the shops lots of apartments: the richest and most narrow mindsets of the city all in one building – all in one floor, of one street, above shops selling that same idea. Someone started a fire. After he took the elevator down from the apartment. He got out of the building. He had a knew plan. He didn’t care what happened to everyone else. But he stopped to hear the saxaphone, instead of hailing a cab. Yellow, dirty, scratched, fender-bender cab waiting for him. He listened to that sax as the police drove up. As he got hauled away. BeeeeeeBOP! WeeeeeeeBOP!
Belong with Havasu out ride the vice stops. I thaw a packed fan staying with who, his mental fax of stone whipping up a storm gloats, fails, harm bionic and wit, deal flicks of wire summing bout of flat sings, people stopped, locked more to more, last the food, hall of stem reeling sooner, it’s feist month on fifth, threes, thistle though, mosses fall about, a root I pull the way, the blow welts, the knaves dress a gain sits farther than any hopper's soot would, the cakes a precious hate the woosh, in fluent tongue, the breath hums tucan bends, won four decks in is rot posse bulls, the musing pops, the boars froze, everything seethes. One more guess, The farms behoove, with diction worse than flow snails like boats sipping through sounds wearing familiar aprons the tough bounds of trite ends and wine or sick ones fixed, Brown the wheat bedrock, free, stop fees, stop Bourdeaux STOP! A maze inkling sum one else weighs sax that’s stout on the fleet, he masticates what the spies saying, he baffles miles, and splotches hymns for a wit. The boats wet header, the food bee combs happen, art a piece elated, though less ends, mops free oh then. A dove the watch blots of a part mint: the witch is and boasts harrowing bindings of the witty stall in some building – all in one door, of one feat, above stops spelling that game i deem. Some won hardened a lyre. After he shook the eleven gators brown from the party meant he bought out of the welding. He had a thorough span. He didn’t stare at haphazard ends to beverage shelves. But he longed to wear the sacks of phones, instead of failing a lab. Bellow, worthy, thatched, gender-offender dab hating for Jim. He whistled to that pact as the poor lease drove up. As he rot bald a day. Be bought! We bought!
Belong to the stone, ride twice no stops. I saw a pocket with no pants today, what do you think of that? The dental clasp of stone wraps you up. Wraps up a storm, a goat, a tail, a harmonica as well. With deaf flickers wires simmer about, singing. People stooped to look. The more they looked, the less they saw. The food hall is filling up soon. Last month the filth piled. Though mosses fell about, I pulled the roots away. The wind blew, but father's knives pressed against the wooden board. (wind belongs to snow). The cakes are almost ready, in full dressing. The breath hums something unknown. The food will not rot tonight. She told him to take another guess. His diction worse than the flow of snails he guessed the boats slipping across sound. The chefs wore familiar aprons today. The meat was tough. The grapes have ripened. The sick ones fixed. Drown the wheat bedrock. Free them from the stone. Where can I find the maze? The birds are spies for the trees. The boats work harder, the honey combs want to be eaten. Eat them! Above the clock towers, a dove boasts flying, which is low and high. All in one door knob, one step around the broken glass. A game we used to play. Not to be won. Not a game at all. After he wrote the eleven chapters, he told the party he was done. (A mistake on his part) He was taken to the beverage shelves. He longed to count the bottles; Instead, he counted names. "What's in a name?" he yelled. "So what if my name is Jim?" He whistled this fact to the grownups. He turned bald the next day. To the mirror he yelled - My thoughts! My thoughts!
5. Devin Tasker Be part of the earth, ride its wake. Explain how to have a pocket with no pants. The stone den, like a clasp, locks you in. Wraps up the storm. A goat, a tale, music being played. But deafness flickers through, wires vibrating uselessly. People stopped to look. The more they looked, the less they heard. More and more people gorging themselves. Gluttony only increases. Plants grew about, but the roots were torn away. The wing blew, but metal knives stayed firmly in place. (Wind belongs to the wind) The cakes, most all red, fully dressed in white. Someone hums something – no need for horrible diction. Someone told him to try again – maybe use less fiction. But the lies slipped across the sound. The chiefs warred against familiar foes. The meat was tough. Fields of grapes have grown over the “sickness”. Wild grasses drowned in wine. Free them from the store. Where can I find the maize? The birds spy from the trees, but it does no good. If the honey combs want to be eaten, they are eaten! A dove crashes into the metal tower. The window is replaced, the bird tossed. It’s a game we all play. We can’t lose – But the winner loses. Like the writer who finishes every chapter and is done. (That was his only mistake). After he went to outside sources. He longed to hold the bottle, but instead consulted names, All the while fighting against his own. He wondered what it might be like to grow up, He found out the next day. In the mirror he saw: My freedom is gone.
Is there, piece, waves what can I strain from sand a bead of water, many beads, skin stretching on top of a penny my forgotten tail wagging under skin and tendons soundless phone calls to anonymous numbers Stop. Look. Less and less hearing and the pressure in ears expands until drum skin is so thin it tears out hairs, even the roots. It took knives splitting cells to move anything (on wind) blood orange splattered under blades and sponge white peeled away. An unknown humming- still an unknown teacher- what's new lies like snakes through sand. Things nearby fighting each other, tough meat and drunk on wine wild grasses drowned in wine never cut, delivered. Where is the cut grain, where is it in bags? only birds from a place to see it on the ground, but nowhere to put it birds fighting queen bees for honey crash and fall children toss the carcasses into air. We will never fly. Reading pages and syntax (what have I done) absorption is best left to dry earth. Withered breasts, consultations, two fetal snakes emerge from one egg I will be stunted and look around at the clock.
7. Emma Tome while flies, piecewise, slept in waves upon - and i longed, and strained my hands. sleeping, softer, my head’s hairs stretching like queen hens, pecking hearing wailing and oh will you pity pity these numbers; stop. look. lessons lessons searing inside stars glowering until then a thin beat cries and flares upstairs, rattling. endives withering rambling crunching, a steel decay. and i know this is coming: still, and bleached it grew like snakes and pushed up, shaking the walls of penitentiary sidewalks. they are nearby, biting at each other’s heels and drunk on wine and crass and shining bright noxious light and brute, shivering where does this look the same? where can i grab and conceal it? It wails and wails and wails. i only heard this from a place above the ground, in soot-covered syllables brash and calling, calling children to break their arms and swear they would never cry. beating rages and sins taxing (what this becomes) distorting the best convocations and regal lords submerge the last wooden pegs; plucking air out. puckering, their blood flow shunted and hooked, stopped.
8. Aly Wong While I fly, I let the waves flow upon me, piecewise - And while I lift my hands above my head, I long for something That has been sleeping, silently, for years. The tiny hairs on my arms sigh and flatten, like the arms of a hungry man Who has just died. I stop. I am looking, But I cannot perceive. Inside the leaves, the bark, the branches, There are cells, organelles, atoms, They are moving and searching, photosynthesizing, creating Destroying. And I cry because I cannot do the same. I wither and press my teeth against steel, try to sharpen my hands On iron, But I know that my arms like snakes, Pushed up, and poised, ready to strike. But I am drunk on wine, And my aim is off, my venom dried up, I cannot conceal my womanliness. I can wail and wail and wail. I can hear the syllables of my voice Echoing in the distance, Calling or ravaging the air. (this is what I become) I distort the air. I can regal the time with my tunes and Submerge myself into the shapeless mass. Puking air, eating air. I am waiting for my blood flow to stop.
My life, let waves flow upon me - be silent And while aloft, we winsome wasting longing: Something has been weeping besides us for years. Tin cans may sigh and flatten, like hungry oranges Having just died. Five stops - I'm looking But we cannot leave. Perception is flowers, petals, scent, Neutrons, electrons, atoms, quarks Smoothing, searching, lurching, debating Besmirching. I scry - I can do only blame unto you. Quiver - press teeth on meat, spiderwebs sharpen Against hands. But I shall do thee mischief in the wood - We, poised to strike, but I have drunk of wine, My aim again off, venom belied Icons seal my woeful darkness - We wail and wail and wail and wail I can hear sweet shards of words Echo in the stance of your body Calling ravaging the anywhere (have we come to woods to die) Report the air. Rapport - of voices - of tunes - whimsical Submerge selves in nebula Speaking of anywhere - we have come To anywhere I speak myself through you - again
10. Rose Booker Strife, let it all alone - shut up Those holes awhile, listen to that long night sound, like Skittering cats behind, mewing besides bedposts for years. Plastic barrels snap open and closed, like hungry maws Filling up with dried saliva. Hives pop - I'm seeing But not discerning. Percepts of cool spring nights, West, north, south, east winds Soaring, stealing, slithering, slashing Whispering. I laugh - thankful shadows. Equalizer - pressing false death on sleepless lids, Against unmade beds. But I shall do no mischief here - The day stands at the ready, but I have drank warm milk, My feet stagger on an imagined road Logos blink off and on from a dreadful box - Spattering Buy and buy and buy and buy and buy and buy and Shut up - I hear mutter my sleeps first victim Echoed in the image of a cat glaring Calling away sounds of stumbling humans (Could have done well to live with dogs) Air retorts. Raping against - stones - walls - windows Surmising the premises with vibrations Spying everywhere - I have left nowhere For everywhere I move myself through it - against it
11. Jessi Redfield Strike now, while you sit among them all, liking what your hear in the dark: Slapping, counting, the mewing of a bedridden child. Preference bans all sorrows, coffins never close for hunger. Forget that death sighs, hopes plead – I refuse to believe but I can’t help it. Perceive the shallow pool When no one sounds early, while Sonorous thieves snarl in snares. Whine. You look – think of the sadness. Equator. Present fake life on silent pages, Frankenstein’s monster’s empty corpse. He loves me, he loves me not – Daisy petals are ready to be read, but I hope against them when they turn on me. My false dreams walk a line Lonesome because I never want to visit them – Stuttering b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-better now? Shut it – that’s right, the cover over her mirrored in the animalistic eyes creeping ever closer to us. (Have you ever lived like a dog?) Our reports. Rape ages the society that it plagues. Surprise attacks could never be prevented When solemn elephants leave nowhere. For everything Makes me throw myself against it. |
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© English 43b Class of Spring 2008 |