Transelating "The Waste Land" |
|
|
The transelations by stanza 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
0. T.S Eliot "My
nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. "Speak
to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. "What
are you thinking of? What thinking? What? "I
never know what you are thinking. Think." I
think
we are in rats' alley Where
the dead men lost their bones. "What
is that noise?"
The wind under the
door. "What
is that noise now? What is the wind doing?"
Nothing again nothing.
"Do "You
know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember "Nothing?"
I remember Those
are pearls that were his eyes. "Are
you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?"
But O
O O O
that Shakespeherian Rag - It's
so
elegant So
intelligent "What
shall I do now? What shall I do?" I
shall
rush out as I am, and walk the street "With
my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? "What
shall we ever do?"
The hot
water at ten. And
if
it rains, a closed car at four. And
we
shall play a game of chess, Pressing
lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
1. Aly Wong Poor Merve is bad to-day. Yes, bad. Leave with me. 'Talk more. Why do you never take a leak? Meek. 'Why are you blinking like that? What blinking? What? 'I cannot tell what you are seeking. Seek.' I wish we were in the bat's haven Where the living men find their skulls. 'Where are those boys?' Under the windy door. 'Where are those boys? What are they doing?' Something always something. 'You know something? Do you? Do you remember 'Something?' I remember Those curls that rounded her face. 'Are you dead yet? Is there a tumor in your head? But. Ah, Ah, Ah Ah that Wordworthian grace-- It's so delightful Oh so smart 'what shall we do today? Why do we do?' 'I shall heat up the sidewalk, and run down the block 'with wet hair, so. What do you want to do? 'What do we ever want to do?' Cold tea at eleven. And if it's sunny, we'll draw the blinds again. And we shall play othello, Pressing open eyes with waiting knocks upon facees.
For Minerva is bated now, and she shan't leave. Take more - why is it that you never speak? Speak. And what are you thinking, when you think that? Icons leave before they say when to seek. I wish we were in Then living men would see bones and weep. From where comes the noise? From under the winding moor. And where comes the noise? Some thinking, for ways of thinking. You know a way of winking? Of thinking? Of blinking? Can't stand those snaky locks rounding places. Are you dead yet? Have we yet to bed? Wail away - ahhhh - silence - that worth in your face - So deleterious, smarting. Why do we moo today? When we moo at noon? I shall shed up the walk, put my head on the block. Soon my hair will wet of blood - will we pull through? Colting at eleven - that's early, that. And sonny, you're drawing blanks at ten. Are you Othello, there, playing at eyes wide shut Waking with locks in empty places?
3. Rose Booker Of Mining towns now elated, and he showed to be but a leaf. Take none - when is it that you spoke last? Squeak then. And what are you drinking, why do you drink that? Logos leave before they say when to sip. I wish we were in Hades, at seven. Then living women that could see stones and leek. From where comes that touch? From under the door. And where comes the touch? Some drinking, four new ways of drinking. You know a way of new peeking? Of linking? Of slinking? Can't stand those lanky loud clocks sounding through places. Are you up yet? Have you wet the bed? Yell away - FUCK! - buzz - that's worthless - So delirious it smarts. Why do we drink today? Milk? What we gulp at noon? I shall not head up the stairs, with my head on the rail. Soon my hair will wet of with booze - will they pull through? Chanting at 1 - that's late, at. . . And sissy, you're drawing out tanks at nine. Are you Kira, there, playing with name and eyes' wide canvas Walking with locks in empty crevasses?
One minor table, elevated, although her show bit lightly. Table one: Watch this, then show your last. Speak up. Watch then, the downer, drowning there? Let leaves befall their solemn slippers. Wants turn to wishes in Heaven all alone. Lying witches can’t swallow lead. Frown when company resumes. Frown above their deaths. Always when company resumes. Solemn downers fight never within one death. I acknowledge weight or width pearly. Or languish. Or salutations. Could stupid thespians lend charity sometime, thought peace. Around us youth yells. Hope yells while they breath. Yet always, forever, beneath, true wealth, some destitute evil stays. When does Wilbur drown this time. Monday. When Wilbur gets around nooses. You shouldn’t walk feet first, when your feet don’t feel at all. Shall May have winter, Winter or Wild breeze. Wilderness then pleads throught. Chase only two, though lately, all…. At sundown, I will drown our thoughts around nooses. And we kill, this, pray without nooses, or ever-present wells collapse While wanting love out even campus.
One small diamond, raised, although only slightly. Test 1: watch this, then show him. Dream on. Watch her, that firefly, sparkling there? Let angels keep you in. She wants to return to Heaven all alone. Those lying eyes can't swallow back pretend to frown when she's around. Keep on frowning when she's gone, always when she's around. These solemn words fight boredom. I acknowledge the weight, sluggishness, or absolute freedom. Could intelligent girls lend spontaneity sometimes, though sudden. Around everyone we yell. Silent screams while they strain. Only sometimes, once in awhile, in true listening, some words slip through. When does God listen today. Morning. When God gets up and stretches. Don't fall heels over head when your head isn't on top to begin with. You still need to figure things out, right yourself up chase yourself down quickly, now- At sunset, I will drain all thoughts into the river. They will die, without blood, drowning in the undertow, while wanting love out of lavender candles.
6. Andy Iser One diamond that lacks the ability to impress but is pointed nonetheless. Watch then show the exact thing you saw lifelessly. See what happens. See that sparkling innocent – breathing smoke and smiling guilty as charged. Angels keep heaven inside and are physically alone. Departed. Solemn, bored words full of energy and emotion, the student is surprised to learn in class. Freedom is full of burden and controversy, or don’t you watch your television? Intelligent women take over the world. Finally, things as they should be. Trains beating in the distance, silently when just appearing. Then they get loud. People muttering on the trains, playing board games, life ticking with the clock. Having a bad day, confused? God is playing with you – your just his little toy. There they are, my neighbors, doing laundry. Lots of dirty clothes. They know it, too. It’s beyond laundry, it’s dirty because it’s expression, sentiment. There they are, living one thing, doing something else.
One dies for men that are lax, ability to impress, but christening nonetheless. Watching shows - the exacting use of lifelessness. Seaweed wrappings. Scene so sparkling for a cent – we then woke and shyly built a marsh. Angles keep heaving with sides that are physical. Deep-hearted. Solomon, wore herds' wool of inner glee and emotion; attitude bends the lies to more thinking. Freed mom is full of birds and country verses, oh won't you watch your television? Until gentle women take over the world. Fine alley, wings that they could see. Veins beating in the distance, silently, while rust is appearing. They forget sound. Deep hole, sputtering of the trains, weighing board games, life sticking in the rock. Waving a sad pay, what a muse. God is saying to you – you're at best a little coy. There there, my neighbors, wooing long days. Lots of hurting woes. They sew it together. If you're young and hung dry, it’s worthy by cause of pressure, sediment. There they are, splitting something, wooing some tiny wealth.
"I'd die for a man that is lax, immobility to impress," she told him as she dressed. Watching shows the exact use of lifelessness. He weeds wrappings. Sea, so sparkling, in a second weaving yolk and buildings, harsh. Angles have only insides, are physicality alone. Departed Solomon bore herds' wool. At it, he dented the prized grayling. The plaza was full of birds and countless verses. Blotch your vision, until you wake over the mould. Finally, wings that you can see. Veins beating in the dust silently. Then, forgetting sound. Deep holes cluttering the train station, where they play board games. Check-mate with a piece of rock. Waving a black flag, with a hole. God is speaking to you. Listen! There, their neighbors stooping over patchwork. "A blanket," they say. They sew it together. No one saw the young boy in the store, hungry, swallowed by sediment. There they were, sewing an ever-growing blanket, to cover - what?
9. Devin Tasker Eye dyed, she let the man pass. There’s no nobility to impress she lectured. She sat watching, ridiculing the lives around her. “He lacks all fashion.” See her, sparkling, with silk weaves of buds. “Who would say an angel’s beauty is on the inside?” “Solomon used his herds to dress himself in his finest wool. Such prized gaiety.” Countless curses flew through the plaza. One in particular: Her vision blocked until she could escape her mold. Wings beat overhead, veins pulsed with dust. Then Nothing. Sound ceased. The train disembarked. Leaving only holes. Only boards were left to make a sort game. Check-mate had come a long time ago. The white flag she wove was useless. When God is speaking to, you listen. The patchwork of the neighbors creates a blanket. Sewing beauty together. There’s no reason that the starving child was buried unseen in garbage. The blanket was given another patch to expand its size.
10. Laura Gianonne Eye to eye they stared at each other's molded noses that watch, riddled with lies and diamonds cotton picked and silk worms worked to the bones, an ugly sweater habits learned from the best, the Holy nightly whispers into the soft ears of Dior and Prada (never surprised at the deity's hot breath) and countesses and purses fly, counts all hold onto a guided rope and walk, fingers slide across twine and pearls gold pulses under pale skin, jets groan above and Moths conquer the handpicked black-browns, ambrosias, mustards, grenadines pews creak, the same, the same, only now fed on pan grease, things that take their last breath in a warehouse under white lights, they flicker, irregular, the buzzing of machinery accommodates all whispers the last person to touch the food (with gloved hands and face) returns to a building there's no room for children, overflowing garbage urban sprawl, sprawlsprawlsprawl
11. Emma Tome I cannot divide these counterposes that rock back and forth, fiddling eyes. That crime then, rotten rippled ilk farming, sulking to these dusty tomes, a crumbling diatomic whisper fetters – Slabs of buzzed premature sweating, reddening, working each bone into dust, he hears the dios dios dios calling hotter and rounding to these pursed lips, recounting, All golden and framed under black light, talking and gliding raffled lines shouldering loads repulsing, paling at the sight of these grown faces, numb from months of squalor, the pickled black brown smell that lingers, and stings our ears, reeking the selfsame reddened pancreas, stinging that makes our breaths short stifled and quiet, touching the choleric moods nested inside, returning to endings. And thousands of silver spoons chill then, out, pouring foliage lined and turbaned tall, we crawl and crawl and crawl |
|
|
|
|
DHTML Menu By Milonic JavaScript |
© English 43b Class of Spring 2008 |