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 V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water
Laughter the porch lights bled on petty races Laughter the frost beats sighs hence inner hardens Laughter the age only in stone and faces The pouting and the lying Price on and pallets and free verbs elation Of wonder of wings of verdant fountains He who was giving is found red We who were giving are now dead With a whittle pat sense Fear is on what urn but lonely stock Stock and no one to band the sand and toad The goad binding a dove amidst the mounting pains Witch our mounting of lock with outward If there were what yearns we would pop and sink A monster opts one can, not sop or sink Sweet is sigh and feats war in the banned If their war only watered amongst the lock Dead maintain houses of various wreaths that cannot sit Fear one wan heathen stagnant wry or fit There is hot even slices in the fountains But wry stares while wonder with outpourings There I snot even souls to do in the mounting plains But wed sullen cases peers and parlors Prom roars of mudcracked faces If there were what yearns And Nora If where we rest clocks And all so wanders And wanders A spry ring A fool among the flock And where were the hounds of wet urns lonely Not the sick ought to Bland guy crass wringing But mounds of hot earth cover a rock Bear that her might thrusts wings in the pine trees Flip flop flip flop flop flop flop But where is Nora.
The porch lights bled on pretty faces; The spitting and smiling race on, cracked plates reverberate. You wonder of wings, of reddened fountains. He who was giving was not fed. We who were leaving are now hiding. With a little license fear is turned; but no elastic sock and no one to bind the hourglass and row the boat. "Blinded by love," he told her amidst the melting pans. Switch your mouth and lock it. Reward them if they learn to pop, and sink. "In one's eruption, one cannot but sink." Sweaty thighs defeated, worn in the band of war. Only water. Amongst the lack, dead maintains its shadow; we cannot sit here, under this sun. It splices the fountains, restates its outpourings. I spot odd souls folding laundry in the mountain planes, stolen gazes, dragging white wedding dresses. It is us they search for. And no rain. If where we rested, clocks rewind and clocks worked wonders… A spiraling fool among the flock. And were we hounds of whet appetite, not the sick? Ought we bind brass wings over mounds of hot earth? Take cover under a rock. Bear the cold back. Her nightgown thrusts wings in the pine trees. Swish swash swish swash swish swash swish no rain.
3. Devin Tasker Light from inside bled out onto the pretty faces. The smiling faces shadowed to look enraged. A plate crashes to the ground, reverberating. Thoughts turn to freedom, not into dead-end mountains. Those who give rarely receive. Those who leave are only hiding. Paper-thin armor is all it takes To battle against fear. But time is something that cannot be battled. Love is said to attack the eyes, To pry open the mouth in search for incriminating confessions, Balloons of secrets waiting to pop. Then the sinking begins. Laden with corruption, one cannot but sink. Blinding thighs deflected, battle becomes murderous Thoughts, turn to water, to deep, surface-less lakes. Death’s shadow follows us as a reminder of imprisoning escape. We cannot wait in the sun any longer – we must kill the shadow. Slice through the bars. And then remake them. There’s no need for a roof – rain isn’t coming. We could rest permanently, to fight the clock. But nothing can stop it. Not some spiraling fool. We are the dogs of desire, Sickened by its drought. Brass wings only help us sink. Drags down into the hot Earth. But one must take cover under earth, To withstand the cold. An abandoned nightgown gives false vulnerability to ice. The eyes are blinded, but the ears work well enough. Outside the downpour continues to not exist.
And the darkness came, rouged cheeks. The many muscles of frowns tire. Dishwashers numbed to the sound of breaking glass they were free, pushing blistered feed into dirt on mountains. The rain came and left. The first minutes after rain, the first thin sheet of water on pavement, the most dangerous cautious drivers glide like surfers, but into poles Steel pointing to the sky And looking past the cloud of smoke from the smokestack, the sky Rubber balloons that will not disintegrate in oxygen they fall to the sea, eventually rubber was never meant to fly. The clear warm weather, and people gather outside and the rain comes, suddenly. They look up, turkeys drown like that. And the light comes, reaches under rocks and blinds salamanders and eyeless worms. Creatures, sliding into houses with only red dots blinking on blenders, green on toasters, white and blue on washers. in jails only red on tasers (for remaking criminals) The rain comes- it comes Shadows pool from under homes, under eyes. They reach the sea. High-rises twist into each other until they form one massive blackout Dogs pant drool dry spittle Planes crash tear across earth covered in cement tear under the cement and tile and into dirt and worms they freeze underneath Frozen lakes, even with ski tracks, are safe for only the weightless fingers working across the snow to find cracks melting ice
5. Emma Tome and the bark disdains routes unreached. the muscled crowns desire dished and washed of drums sounding last and last they were three, lusting bleached feeding shifts and fountains the same drained bereft the shirt minute and feeling same, the first breached waves sent thoughts courageous raged rivers riding surfaces, sold on smoke and rye. slobbering buffoons that hinder and flock again they call to me, continually and club themselves apart, and cry at the fear and the warmth that never faltered out, sliding they come, lovingly their books, lurking, crown at last and flight, dumb beaches and flocks and orange rinds salesman slivering i - less words. railing red and fading for disembarking semblances of seminal pain, comes, shows drooling under tomes, utter lies. and a foggy rant each cry little. the range flashes and eats soggy earth, covered in cement rearing acorns and into urns we greet each to each rising mandrake, even these lies track and rake, weightless lingering, sinking, skinning the growth, disheveled twice.
6. Aly Wong And the dark distance roaming the wreckage Pillaging the muscular jewels and the Womanly curves. I cannot stop the drums, Their beating in threes, shifting the air and the bodies back and forth With the whispering tinkling of the fountains Draining the night Air. All in a minute, the bodies stop pulsating and let the ocean take over their Journey. Ravaging the rivers and riding the tides, stolen And lost, they ride. Sobbing their tears, the flocks swoop down, Screaming into the air, never-ending Mouths opening and closing, Ripping with their teeth and gnashing With a strange warmth and desperation that Is hidden deep, inside. And the others come, seeking the crown Sucking their rotten oranges and limes, Saying words that I cannot hear. Red and fading is the Night as the pain comes, fast, Delaying that happiness, drawing the tears Of lies, ranting. To cry To flash the inwards To taste the earth And break the acorns Saying hi, how do you do? The mandrake flies to the east, His weightless wings give me hope, He soars, lingers, then Sinks.
The dark listless gloaming over the wreckage Plaguing emasculated jewels - taking Wantonly curls. Icons may stomp the drums: There, speaking in trees, shivering air embodied to and fro With the shushtering trickling fountainous Delays of night Bare. Alone minutely, draughts stave, undulating, let others shun the Sojourn. Ravaging drivers, elating dives, entailing All that is lost - we ride. Stoppering fears, the flocks troop in sound, Staving into hair everlasting Mouths soften and close Ripened flesh breaks under teeth - bite With estranged warmth, departation Hidden sleep, belied. And the mothers come, seeking ground, Sucking their brought oranges, limes, Staying laces I cannot clear. Reddened aiding isn't Right as pins come - last - Decrying that happiness, tasting of fears, Of lies, ranting. To die To dash inwards To taste of birth And break from a song Straying high from elucidating mystery The mandrake cries for the least. This dateless ring gives me pause - For he showers, lingers, Sinks.
8. Rose Booker Listening to groaning over the micro-phonic wreckage A plaque encase jewel - breaking Curling irons. Iconic blonds stomp out and turn brunette: There, speaking of the Devil, shivering among others with less GDP Within the efflorescent light bulbs tricking fountains of Delays not complete in utter absence Sense. Lonely minutes, mules of Teacake, sighing, letting others shun the mule Sojourner Truth. Ravaging Puritans, elevating divas, tail-light-breaking Bobby brown All that is gain - we consume. Stoppers fear, the dark locks that curl too tightly, Closing in among the air above the skull Thoughts straggled among dark clumps and burning In a fresh breakable ceramic straightening maching - biting down With electric heat, depriving thoughts of Hiding places, besieged. And the fathers never come, seeking daughters, Brushing their leaves with cocoa butter, Staying across the bay from birth town Redden sky mirroring burns Rightfully pinning up- ashy skin - Crying for that last moment, hearing years, Of white bow ties and picture days. To beautify To make the invisible visible To mock Cotton Mather while Breaking from the self into Straying others forming lines mystifying Pecan colored drakes flying for the ledge. This dated verse gives me no satisfaction - For you know, reading Stinks.
Likened to the grown over microscopic gardens, Plagues encompass whole brands. Cue around icons breaking, swinging original blondes Through seven deaths, shut out from other givens. Without forever, love is worth nothing. Doubt not this complete obtainment. Silence. Lovely minuets, music to the temper of sighs and laughs, smiling mutely. So, journey for truth, ravage for purity, elements of divine tightrope walkers breaking through. All we’ve lost, we never had. Stopper fear, bottle death, cure life. Closed for good, air graffiti sulks Though strangers can only damn the bright Froth of the breaking sea, strangling drowned bathers. Within electrifying Heavens, demons throw down, Hoping for reprieve, betrayed. And when folks never sound out the depth, Brutes can lay back and drink hot cocoa, Straying around the back yard of this life. Red turns to orange turns to yellow In a reverse sunset for the ages – Cry out, come back, heart yearning for the colors again, White losing its meaning in picturesque days. To rectify To makeshift a indestructible silence To parrot the cotton pickers when Broken from sweat and tears They wish only for others to point the way. Pick colors again, drag filth into the memory. This dated sunset, which never happened, Torments the mind, readying Self-loss.
10. Jennifer Chin Here for a moment like overgrown gardens. Fairies come for stolen bread. Icicles and glaciers are melting, typical for light sun, through seven windows, shut out from the night stars. Without love, forever is worth nothing. Do not doubt this complete abandonment. Echo. Crashing minutes, rolling to the tempo of silence, listening mutely. Acrobat performers twist and turn to lose all we've lost, what we had. The cure for cancer came in a bottle, closed for good, this air thickens through strangers condemning the light froth of the ocean strangling beer bottles and seaweed. While electrifying the Heavens, these angels hope to be reprieved, lifted up. But when fellows never cry out, girls will stay and sip tea, stay hushed in the backyard of courtship. Black turns to brown turns to yellow in an upside down arc of the ages- hush through your yearn for green again, white loses its brightness in the absence of light. To straighten to construct an indelible racket to mimic the mimers covered in silver tears who wish they could look the other way again. Shuffle the cards, drag the cobwebs out into your memory. This sudden sunset, which no one saw, torments the sky, wondering sensation.
11. Andy Iser Man and mother, Dan the park ranger fuming his anger Hurting the family goals and his wife falling. He can help his noise-making family, the treating of loved-ones been lost at an unruly card game when his enemy cheated on a flush loosing their money bad partnership. All in, the boys stop throwing in money and turn over their Journey. One sobers up, one runs to leave, stolen And lost, they grab him. Sitting in tears, the fool broke lost, Screaming into the air, all in Mouths open a big bluff. Ripping with their fists and throwing weight our family man desperate and beaten deep, inside. And the others come, paying him back ignoring the real cheat and jerk, bloodying up thinking nobody can hear. Sad and fat he lays Night and day the pain comes, ouch, Delaying any movement, drowning in blood Puddles. To cry To feel torture To taste his family And break addiction Saying hi, how do you do? The man dies in the memory, His dream strings give me thoughts, He tried, failed, then died. |
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© English 43b Class of Spring 2008 |