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 Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman - But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Unreal
Whose is this herd that walks always behind me? When I count, there is always one more than the last time, but when I look down the white road, they eat grass, innocently gathering, rapidly begging. I do not know, shall I throw them a stick? -But whose is this herd that walks behind me? What is that sound low in the sky? More, more of maternal lamentation. Where they stood, hordes warming over endless plans, sputtering naked earth. Ring the flat horizontal city over the mountains. Crack and reform and burst the violent air flying higher Until-
2. Devin Tasker What creatures stalk me? Each glance I catch one more black shadow, But when I look ahead down these white streets, Nothing surreptitious – only normality; simplicity. I do not know, should I simply look ahead? But what’s behind me walks these same snow-laced streets. More mental lamentation never hurt – overtly. They were there. A horde of warning. Endless gilded paths ahead – behind the naked Earth. A flat horizon rings around me. The city is built above the mountains. The reformed sky is cracked, violet bursting through. Always flying higher - beyond reach. Unless -
I am hiding My feet cast shadows on blank heat And everything I run from- solely morality; mortality. I stare into the hot sun Footprints melt into fresh pavement, steaming tar, each step I inhale lines. Morays shoot from their holes and tell stories as they burn on the pavement. I am here. Hoarding warring. Leaping from cesspool to cesspool- all under the same planet, on fire. Saturn's rings spun and spun until they choked the gas out of the planet. Now I hide in holes, under mountains of burning tires. The sky, possessed, bleeding My ways are limited- beached like bloated whales on other orbs. Civilization, civilize, civilize civil Cities cities cite site - Useless
4. Emma Tome I, dividing. This street is blackened, sallow, and cold feet even sing at the sun, crooning mortality, mortality. I, bare inside a hot son. Imprints felt in the wet scathing fleeting hours, each crept pale, divine. Stingrays glued to maypoles and hung, gory and smooth, each wave meant sighs and tears. Hours waning, fleeting, panning out from incessant drool and drool, the same semaphores appear, ablaze. Fattened ringspun wool and wool until it broke and shattered, fragments. How do I divide these souls, fountain-ing out, burning lyres. These eyes compressed, seeming by day to flicker, and beseeched like floating sails into the mother’s womb. Clarinet syllables singled, ripple Flitting singing creeping Sightless.
5. Aly Wong I, separating. That beat is whitening, sinking my feet leaving the songs of the sun, crying manna, manna. I, yearn inside for my cold son, his footprints scattered along the lonesome minutes, each flying by, in mine. Stinging grays on my face, hanging, red and brittle, each undulation crying. More time, leaving me behind, pausing from the never ending clashing of the sighs, the fires are coming. Flattened cotton and more cotton stretching and bending, snapping at the ends. Oh, do I cut these threads, singe the ends of such small lives already. My eyes, being My mind flickering, searching for the lost life inside. I hear a trumpet in the distance, sending ripples in the air Flying swimming dancing Seeing.
Icebergs breaking. The heat is widening, signing its feats, Leaving its tongue in the hearts of sun-cries: Emana - emana - emana - Sithern there, in his cold costume, Footprints scathing along lonely minute paths that fly, by the by. Nettles graze my face, harmonious, wrought, bidding, Each one an adulation sighing: Dying, Stealing my time, pacing along nerve endings, slashing in kind, the first to come. Flakes, ends of cotton, caught on stretches and bends of the river, flowing. Oh do I smite these heads, sign away on lives broken again and again and again. Mice, being mimed, flickering, scrounging for the last wife to hide: I hear atrophies in this cadence, spending fiddles to be ware Spying dimming prancing Fleeing.
7. Rose Booker Icing, melting Heat rising, striking frets with leaden spoons, Mimicking tongues of apricot hearts at sun-set: Bricka-bricka-bricka Sit her now, there, in his old arm care, Footsteps sliding leaving long minuets press against that kalamansi, her and there Leaves grace the lace, laborious, rooting, budding, Everyone a delineated sigh: Drying, Losing my time, walking with stiff nerves, cracking under kindness, the last Sugar frosted flakes, bottom of a bowl, caught on an upside down moon and within a sea of white. Oh do I slurp these misshapen heads, sighing away on broken nightmares again and again and again. Lice, being minced, flickered, scorched for the last flipping time to hide: Hearing aids as trophies cased in cardboard, spreading old riddles as new wares Rhyming dimly with lily Freeing.
I see margins Hear roundness, sense focus, while lives spill. Mindlessly taking our apparent have-nots always superciliously. Bam bam bam Silly, hear knocks, threats, inward horrors away carried. Fools sleep long, leaves might pour again, though kamikazes have taken Lost gazes for longing, living, rapid, breathing. Evermore a defeated sabotage. Drowning. Lying through your teeth, waking within stubborn never, craving upon kindred, laying Sit for fakes, better, braver, cowards who always dissolve the mood and withhold several wisdoms. Onward, south, mistaken? How now, signs always break. Now, as they do forever. Lick breaks my friend. Save forever. Live for this time, hour. Hope for advice from trolls, contentment in casualties, saving graces oiled by ridiculous waiving no ones. Wait there, dining with lambs. Freeze.
I see signs contend with squares, bring into focus leaves crackling. Subconsciously comparing the horrors with notes copied twice over, crash crash crash Silently I feel my heights carried away, threatening and pleading. The quiet stay in bed with leaves rustling at their windows, though men have taken last gazes and rhythmic breathing. Always repeating, regurgitating. Lying with crooked teeth, arriving with stubborn nerves, craving the kind that lays, cowers under quivering moods and dissolving upon contact with water. Onward to mistakes? How do these signs always break. It's passing, not forever. One kick to the jaw. Save this crystal hour. Hope for a star gazing into contentment and grace, ocean waves with you there, diving into lanes. Swim.
10. Andy Iser hear sirens scream with torture, bright light into focus leaves backing. Sinfully companies hide reports, with notes copied twice over, crunch crash away suddenly I feel new truth coming today, bossoming and riding. He wirelessly stays, his head amidst knees rumbling at any echo, row then mad patriot vast waters and rhythmic heeding. Always remembering, restating. Slyly with wicked motive, kniving to win unborn plans, sterilizing the mind that says: coward under quiet mood you dissolve your contact cheats. Onward to misery? How do you sign your name? Law’s passing, not forever. One eye on you soon this great day. Hope for a star never to fall and grace us, ocean waves fall and recycle, doting is un-dutiful. Stop.
11. Sandra Khalifa Fear sirens screaming fortunes, white light blinds focus, weaves black. Sinful saints hiding in forts, with ropes tied twice over, we wash away. Suddenly I feel your truth coming to say, bow to something, anything. He finally waits, his red mist flees thundering at my echo, blow the mad patron past waters and rhythmic bleeding. All days remember, he's waiting. Wryly with crooked motives, driving to thin unborn pains, realizing the blind find ways. Cower under quiet debuts, you will solve your cons with cheats. On towards misery? How do you align four games? Law surpassing rot for better. One day you will swoon to this late day. Mope for a war never to fall and face us, motion saves all grand cycles, toting this un-fruitful stop. |
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© English 43b Class of Spring 2008 |