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 Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder DA Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms DA Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus DA Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands
I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam ceu chelidon - O swallow swallow Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih
Three spiraled into one, and floods Spread, they stretched Through as the Dry earth gasped, groaning from deep tissue. The desert returned in silence, scarred TAKE Ella, will you help us reclaim what had been taken? Ella, a sound from your gut Many short men clambered to take us A time of churned soils spread, pocketed We were dead souls, for those men The spread us with the soil Wove our ligaments into their fabrics for uniforms Metal stamps on our body parts for identification Mbiras, talk us into a flatland again CONTROL Euthanasia, I do it to yourself in a world With locks melting over floors and sealing Us in, we stand in rooms of disintegrating constitutions We are sponges for the chants of gods They trap us but we trap ourselves halfway through salutes, A crown advances through puddles of vertebrae, still saluting CONTROL Disorders, returning swifter than victories Float under bright ribbons, fine-tuned to triggers and gauges They enter and adjust sights, they see bombs in Cans leftover from bar-b-ques, on grass under magnolia trees, they obey Orders from within to fling
their twitching bodies to the
ground Dipped open palms into the last of the floodwater Shallow dust rose and we
wondered about inhalation Nunca más un México sin nosotros -Daedalus, we know the heat of the sun The charred prince showed us, with his lighthouse We know to build with walls, not bricks Dry times on sweaty backs. We walk our lobsters indoors. We don't sing we scat. We melt ourselves. We are under control. Sweaty heat heat heat.
2. Emma Tome red, hexed and blackened rounds. rather soft spoken, it ground papers and creeping after him, laying there, crouched rye birthed collapsed glowering and reaped issue, the rest hurt and burned violent, scarred ACHE hell wills us, helps us, and our selfsame brakes us hell, rounded buttressed and thirty cut balloons raked us and rhyme ran and toiled, rocketed there where redden bowls were broken. the dead used these oils, wove each filament into rabid boils, unformed nettles clamped on our body parts and these ramifications mirrored futile inundations, rose again and again. REPEL you in Asiatic stupor — I find me-words in stocks belting out margins of healing. a sin. we’re branded tombs of reverberating revolution these hearts sprung and ranted hot they wrap us and take us under winged suits, around entranced - blue muddled circumspect still colluding YES order, reticent borders lifted hickory trees goading and chalked gibbons rhyme beautiful, raging disinterested adjunct light, the sea-mobs win cantilevered and queued up, a rasp of honeybees flies away borders kept us in, ringing and flicking hot sparks around and bordered by hedges ripped open, psalms clouded and wasted fodder and fallow fusty robes wandered out of habitation each feeling must be louder louder and churned and turned and yearned
and more of us never had deadened and reddened cinders colored our eye myxomitosis spread our toungues out flat. a drum beat beat breathed a-hi a-hi a-hi
3. Aly Wong Rounds of red come soft, black creeps along the ground looking for his son who lays still, unbridled in the womb of his mother. The tissue glows with hurt SILENCE wills our souls to hell, or breaks our desperation- silence comes well rested to cut the shaking souls that toil to make a name; their names only last on their graves. Deadened oils, brackish paint covering the tops of their wounds. The scabs are scarring, clambering up their trucks rising to meet the heart. PEELER The scabs fall off, one by one, as I find the weakness in their edges, like socks and belts in need of mending, they brand my face and back. Tombs are rotting, hearts are ranting, the flesh cries out for protection, but the skin stays entranced by the flames. I see blue. EYES Genus, species. Creating the nomenclature of my soul, I categorize my trunks and my leaves, I count the rings. Goading the tissue into submission, I see my skin smooth, raging, ravished. The light and the sea and the bees all around. Nature perseveres at the edges of the hickories. The monkeys cry, and I, disinterested in the light, in the honeybees, in the borders that capture… I rip myself open instead and take the fusty robes out of habitation and chew the wasted fooder. Louder and louder my soul awakens until the skin prickles and reds my tongue follows suit, humming to the buzzing, to the moaning, to the beating of the woods. The woods breathe in. I breathe in.
Grounds of reddened comfrey Make speakings of sound Searching for this one, this one Who stays, still Nebulous in the times of others. We, tissuing, glow in search. SOLITUDE Will eventually spill us to hell, or wake in meditation - Silence knows while resting that half of Staking soles is Foiling the takers while you maim, Though maiming won't show in graves. Heady spills, mawkish feints Cover us as we wind away in silence. The scarabs start limbering up tree trunks Rising to watch the art. STEALER The signs will out, one by one, as the mind Weakens the lies in hedges Like a good sock or a belt would do in time. You stand without facing back. Trash tries for protection, but skimping Leaves no traces after flames. Like you. WISE It's genius to have specie today! Faking the weight of a toll, Categorizing trunks and briefs How much worth carry the rings? Guiding issues into submission, I see I'm in, Smooth, crazing, established. We might have to see what the beasts are about. Not your preserves tucked under hickory boughs, The donkeys sigh, And I, disinclined to wait for beasts and stocks, And the orders that they don't understand, I rip my sleeves open in my stead, and take dusty droves Out of incubation and eschew the wasted fodder. Prouder and prouder my toll mistakes, Until the tin trickles and blacks My son follows, in suits, Humming to the buzzing, to the groaning, to the meeting Of do-goods. The good must win. (With a bunch of cash) - I breathe in.
5. Rose Booker Coffee grounds of dark brown confectionary godliness Make waking soundly Lurching out of bed, for this one Day standing still in the number seven Numbing the times utterly complete. We, change course, growling in search of SANITY Where eventually hell will be a Starbucks or Jamba Juice in the wake of medication – Knowing that half and half gives no rest Stale senses are Foliage for walking tankers scattered on sidewalks, Caffeinated neurons will show up in an autopsy. Sedation pills, masked feats wondrous Covering us with false filmy husks chocking in silence The cicadas started humming on tree trunks Sound ringing like jackhammers against skulls SANITY The candle is out, drip by drip, as empty as Weekends lying between midterms Like a bad chorus line, something Pop divas would do. Standing for approval unbecoming any stage. Trashy haircuts covering eye lids for protection, but skimpy Leaving no traces of what you were before. Like rain SANITY It's genuine to have speckled skin nowadays! Faking one’s weight at the toll booth, Categorizing lumps from humps How much is the boost? Gilding tissues across Botox faces, I see, it cost too much, Smooth, lazing, establishment They might have to see what the noise outside is about. Not my problem if a trucker hits a biker under, The monkey clerk sighs, And I, disinclined to wait for hicks and sluts, Order something that they don't have, I rip my wallet open anyways, and take a dusty handful Out of incubation and grimace at the wasted feed. Shamed and Shamed my financial mistakes, Until the cardboard cup trickles out black addictive gold The sun follows, its course outside, Shinning overhead to the growing population of mites below Of hooligans. The good must win. (With a wad of cash) - I take a deep sip.
Canonical gavels dig back, condemning goddesses Major waking shakes Lunge out of beginnings, protest this once upon a time Don’t save strings for the numb souls Numbered tables take importance over Wild choices that course through grandiose spotlights. Save me. When even Heaven wants out, or Satan jokes about the inevitability of resurrection – Knowledge hears and hopes, gets no reprieve States sated situations Fauna fainting over saunas, waking together, seated in sideways Can you not nervously weep or shudder when atrociously Sedated? Please pass the miracle, full of wonders. Keep back the fake filth hoarded by childlike shivers. The chickadees stopped hammering in tree houses Shouting regally as jokers sulk around. Save ME. The candy has melted, dissolving the paper, entirely Unwelcome, lying when you’re between bedsheets Always a bad pick up line, something that only pops out with a few beers. Standing ovations bring any stage to tears. Trade heartstrings for courage, ever after looking for appreciation but sadly Losing every trace of what you had before, when you reigned. SAVE me. Guaranteed, liver for liquor, How much for booze? Gilded tanks after bouncing fakes. Does it cost too much? Smart, alluring, intoxicated. They don’t remember last night, black out. Not their problem if trouble comes for being underage. Money makes clergy sing, While I, disinterested in the waiting line for dances, Order up another shot and down it. A rip-off artist, kicked in the shins, quite a handful. Incapacitated by a whole flow of grim events, A sham on the shamrock of final margins. Under cut up, undercut tricks, black outs adhere to gophers Sons forgive, cousins outlive, A shiver in the overhead compartment grown mightily populated By havens. The grand music fails. (When water cries) – I take a deadly step.
The tomato paste cans are lined up like goddesses, major lightning storms. Let's start from the beginning, protest this once more don't save any songs for those souls numbed hearts take over wicked courses that speed by red lights. Keep me. When Heaven calls, or Satan jokes about impropriety-know that no one will hear you just keep repeating your salutations. We sit sideways in side doors can you stop your shuddering when I'm around? Please stop these miracles, you've stopped your hunter in my brain but now sulk around, shuffling. Keep me. Your anger has melted dissolving entirely. I am lying on the grass always somewhere in the middle, only to peep out, stopping at the sun. Standing makes my legs shake. Trade this dreaminess for appreciation lose every emotion you had before, when you were in control. KEEP ME. I say I guarantee, live for me, how much for you? Gliding and bouncing into fakes. How much will you do? Sleepy, stressed, sober. How can you see the night when there's trouble during the day? Money always makes them sick, while you, complacently waiting, serve me lies instead and drown. Rip these hairs and kick those shins, knock the promises off your hands. Captivated by your series of events, sometimes I only read in the margins. Undercut and blacked out some forgive, others rage. stop shivering from the warmth of he sun by the heavens. This crashing music falls. (When winter cries)-I call.
8. Andy Iser Ketchup tastes like a goddess, limp fruits on trees to squishy tomatoes. Let's start from the beginning, protect these once made songs for tomatoe squeeze’s supper hurries to be over to freeze courses that say no to red squeeze. Ketchup. When Heaven calls, or Satan jokes about too dry anything- know that one will hear a whisper of ketchup.
Stay bent upon your recognitions, We sit focused upon a boat, Relax for God’s sake, Don’t stare at me like that just say thanks and get over it, Lif’e tough don’t keep thinking about it, You walk like a nut, think one foot, left then right, Here, have some ketchup, look how you relax. you’re in heaven, you’re high, and you’re coughing, hungry, and passing out. I’m so comfortable. Let’s flip everything around so I need to get up, just throw everything away. yeah pass the ketchup I’m freaking out again. I proposed to the girl because I loved her. I was rich, she should have loved me. She had plastic surgery. Nostalgic, lonely, hung-over, Why does the sun last longer than darkness, Let’s go out and spend some time together? I’ll pay you for your love, Take a number sweetie, I feel freightened,, Renounce your lies and stop making new ones, You’re interesting and that does something to me, it makes me read between the lines. tongue-tied, nervous-awkward I call you trippingly, I don’t know what you’re going to say. don’t be all nice to me at once, God as my witness, A storm rages. Things could be worse.
Catch up waste-like goddess, skip stones on seas to spinning gone halos. Let's remark on the beginning, so technical these once-played wrongs for remaining sneezes. Suffer worries to be clover, to seize horses that nay so to wed fleas. Catch up. When Heaven falls, or Satan pokes, a stout tool dries everything- know that one will fear a whistle to catch up. Stay bent on your volition, We sit, four cursed upon a boat, We wax for good's sake, Wont stares bat me like fat rust spraying thanks and fretting over it, Knife touches; don’t keep winking about it, You walk, like strut, think one foot, hefty flight. Here, have to catch up, look how you relapse. You're leaven, your sigh, and you’re stopping, wrung cry, harassing doubt. I’m so comfortable. Let’s slip, wavering a round of eyes need to let up, just blow every wing away. Pass or catch up. I’m bleak and out again. I loathed too the whirl because I loath to deter. I was a witch, she would have shoved me. She, sad, drastic perjury. Nostalgic, rosary hung moreover, Why glows the sun, past stronger than darkness, Let’s row out and mend some crime together. Why pay you for your shove, Fake a number sweetly, I reel, heightened. Announce your lies and stop making new guns, Your interesting band that shoves some fling to me, it wakes me fleeing behind enemy lines. Tongue-tied, nerve hits our chord, I stall you wittily, I don’t know what you’re trying to slay. Don’t see-saws suffice for me? Did once, God as my witness, The warm pages. Wings on the hearst.
10. Yehonatan Sella The waist of a goddess I sought when I skipped stones on the sun-bitten sea. In the beginning there was a goddess. She launched the world into a start by sneezing. Men offered blankets to cover this vast mystery. When heaven falls, the gods have the greatest pleasure. The ball enjoys its gravity. Sitting on the boat, they count silently, their skin a little melted as when my father took me to discover sea. Body touches water, a solvent. Dissolve me. "Here. We have to catch up." Look how you relaxed. The raven flies high. Too high for me to care about. The boat sunk. It got too comfortable. A slip of paper. The ink fades in water. In the wind, everything looks like wings.
Passing through the strait, and out again? I loved the whirlpool because I loved the whirl. Which one was I? Of those thrown to shore? The sand was warm on the surface, but beneath it was cold. I generalized Shakespeare: what's in a surface? That the sea glows when the sun touches, that the sea is ancient, found in every myth? The good thing about Spanish is that a question has a marked beginning. The sand, a vast hand that shoves you into granularity. I am behind enemy lines. Dry-tongued, I wish I forgot how to speak. I know too well what the sand says. "see, saw, grainy once. Suffice grainy." Sand, and the warm pages. They split me apart.
11. Devin Tasker I yearned to embody a deity, Skipping stones across a sun-blistered sea. In the beginning there was only a single goddess. Her breath brought life to the world. Men were created, and they sought to uncover The mystery of the past. They don’t know that the gods take the greatest pleasure from their stories. We make a breakthrough by discovering gravity. They sit above, silently counting down, Their skin melding into the sky, Like the horizon above the sea. They call water a solvent, but it won’t dissolve me. We have much to discover, maybe it all. But look how we’ve all relaxed. Does a bird which flies overhead fly too high to care about? This boat will sink if we sit idle for too long. A single piece of paper bleeds ink into the water. But in the wind, it spreads like wings. We created our own strait, Calling it a geographical evolution. We all love whirlpools for their destructive mystery; Will I be one of the drowned, or one of those washed ashore? The latter: warm sand atop cold. Any great thinker would ask what’s in a surface. But the sea glitters when the sun touches it, Its brilliance is found in every ancient myth. Other languages leave no question of uniformity on such beginnings. The sand has been shattered by the gods’ fists Into granularity. I am on this holy ground. Now the heat dries my tongue, but can’t quell my speech. I know too well what the sand will say back. I have no need for hearing. Sand and paper. They separate me from my deity. |
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