“是的，我自己亲眼看见古米的西比尔吊在一个笼子里。孩子们在问她：西比尔，你要什么的时候，她回答说，我要死。”

二、对弈
    
她所坐的椅子，像发亮的宝座     
在大理石上放光，有一面镜子，     
座上满刻着结足了果子的藤，     
还有个黄金的小爱神探出头来     
（另外一个把眼睛藏在翅膀背后）     
使七枝光烛台的火焰加高一倍，     
桌子上还有反射的光彩     
缎盒里倾注出的炫目辉煌，     
是她珠宝的闪光也升起来迎着；     
在开着口的象牙和彩色玻璃制的     
小瓶里，暗藏着她那些奇异的合成香料——膏状，粉状或液体的——使感觉     
局促不安，迷惘，被淹没在香味里；受到     
窗外新鲜空气的微微吹动，这些香气     
在上升时，使点燃了很久的烛焰变得肥满，     
又把烟缕掷上镶板的房顶，     
使天花板的图案也模糊不清。     
大片海水浸过的木料洒上铜粉     
青青黄黄地亮着，四周镶着的五彩石上，     
又雕刻着的海豚在愁惨的光中游泳。     
那古旧的壁炉架上展现着一幅     
犹如开窗所见的田野景物，     
那是翡绿眉拉变了形，遭到了野蛮国王的     
强暴：但是在那里那头夜莺     
她那不容玷辱的声音充满了整个沙漠，     
她还在叫唤着，世界也还在追逐着，     
“唧唧”唱给脏耳朵听。     
其它那些时间的枯树根     
在墙上留下了记认；凝视的人像     
探出身来，斜倚着，使紧闭的房间一片静寂。     
楼梯上有人在拖着脚步走。     
在火光下，刷子下，她的头发     
散成了火星似的小点子     
亮成词句，然后又转而为野蛮的沉寂。     
“今晚上我精神很坏。是的，坏。陪着我。     
跟我说话。为什么总不说话。说啊。     
你在想什么？想什么？什么？     
我从来不知道你在想什么。想。”     
我想我们是在老鼠窝里，     
在那里死人连自己的尸骨都丢得精光。     
“这是什么声音？”     
风在门下面。     
“这又是什么声音？风在干什么？”     
没有，没有什么。     
“你     
“你什么都不知道？什么都没看见？什么都     
不记得？”     
我记得     
那些珍珠是他的眼睛。     
“你是活的还是死的？你的脑子里竟没有什么？”     
可是     


噢噢噢噢这莎士比希亚式的爵士音乐——     
它是这样文静     
这样聪明     
“我现在该做些什么？我该做些什么？     
我就照现在这样跑出去，走在街上     
披散着头发，就这样。我们明天该作些什么？     
我们究竟该作些什么？”     
十点钟供开水。     
如果下雨，四点钟来挂不进雨的汽车。     
我们也要下一盘棋，     
按住不知安息的眼睛，等着那一下敲门的声音。     
丽儿的丈夫退伍的时候，我说——     
我毫不含糊，我自己就对她说，     
请快些，时间到了    
埃尔伯特不久就要回来，你就打扮打扮吧。     
他也要知道给你镶牙的钱     
是怎么花的。他给的时候我也在。     
把牙都拔了吧，丽儿，配一副好的，     
他说，实在的，你那样子我真看不得。     
我也看不得，我说，替可怜的埃尔伯特想一想，     
他在军队里耽了四年，他想痛快痛快，     
你不让他痛快，有的是别人，我说。     
啊，是吗，她说。就是这么回事。我说。     
那我就知道该感谢谁了，她说，向我瞪了一眼。     
请快些，时间到了     
你不愿意，那就听便吧，我说。     
你没有可挑的，人家还能挑挑拣拣呢。     
要是埃尔伯特跑掉了，可别怪我没说。     
你真不害臊，我说，看上去这么老相。     
（她还只三十一。）     
没办法，她说，把脸拉得长长的，     
是我吃的那药片，为打胎，她说。     
（她已经有了五个。小乔治差点送了她的命。）     
药店老板说不要紧，可我再也不比从前了。    
你真是个傻瓜，我说。     
得了，埃尔伯特总是缠着你，结果就是如此，我说，     
不要孩子你干吗结婚？     
请快些，时间到了     
说起来了，那天星期天埃尔伯特在家，他们吃滚烫的烧火腿，     
他们叫我去吃饭，叫我乘热吃——     
请快些，时间到了     
请快些，时间到了     
明儿见，毕尔。明儿见，璐。明儿见，梅。明儿见。     
再见。明儿见，明儿见。     
明天见，太太们，明天见，可爱的太太们，明天见，明天见。 

我，帖瑞西士，虽然瞎了眼，在两次生命中颤动，
年老的男子却有布满皱纹的女性乳房，能在
暮色苍茫的时刻看见晚上一到都朝着
家的方向走去，水手从海上回到家，
打字员到喝茶的时候也回了家，打扫早点的残余，点燃了她的炉子，拿出罐头食品。

窗外危险地晾着     
她快要晒干的内衣，给太阳的残光抚摸着，     
沙发上堆着（晚上是她的床）     
袜子，拖鞋，小背心和用以束紧身的内衣。

我，帖瑞西士，年老的男子长着皱褶的乳房     
看到了这段情节，预言了后来的一切——     
我也在等待那盼望着的客人。     
他，那长疙瘩的青年到了，     
一个小公司的职员，一双色胆包天的眼，  
一个下流家伙，蛮有把握，     
正像一顶绸帽扣在一个布雷德福的百万富翁头上。


一个女人紧紧拉直着她黑长的头发     
在这些弦上弹拨出低声的音乐     
长着孩子脸的蝙蝠在紫色的光里     
嗖嗖地飞扑着翅膀     
又把头朝下爬下一垛乌黑的墙     
倒挂在空气里的那些城楼     
敲着引起回忆的钟，报告时刻     
还有声音在空的水池、干的井里歌唱。     
在山间那个坏损的洞里     
在幽黯的月光下，草儿在倒塌的     
坟墓上唱歌，至于教堂     
则是有一个空的教堂，仅仅是风的家。     
它没有窗子，门是摆动着的，     
枯骨伤害不了人。     
只有一只公鸡站在屋脊上     
咯咯喔喔咯咯喔喔     
刷的来了一炷闪电。然后是一阵湿风     
带来了雨     
恒河水位下降了，那些疲软的叶子     
在等着雨来，而乌黑的浓云     
在远处**在喜马望山上。     
丛林在静默中拱着背蹲伏着。     
然后雷霆说了话     
DA     
Datta：我们给了些什么？     
我的朋友，热血震动着我的心     
这片刻之间献身的非凡勇气     
是一个谨慎的时代永远不能收回的     
就凭这一点，也只有这一点，我们是存在了     
这是我们的讣告里找不到的     
不会在慈祥的蛛网披盖着的回忆里     
也不会在瘦瘦的律师拆开的密封下     
在我们空空的屋子里     
DA     
Dayadhvam：我听见那钥匙     
在门里转动了一次，只转动了一次     
我们想到这把钥匙，各人在自己的监狱里     
想着这把钥匙，各人守着一座监狱     
只在黄昏的时候，世外传来的声音     
才使一个已经粉碎了的柯里欧莱纳思一度重生     
DA     
Damyata：那条船欢快地     
作出反应，顺着那使帆用桨老练的手     
海是平静的，你的心也会欢快地     
作出反应，在受到邀请时，会随着     
引导着的双手而跳动     
我坐在岸上     
垂钓，背后是那片干旱的平原     
我应否至少把我的田地收拾好？     
伦敦桥塌下来了塌下来了塌下来了     
然后，他就隐身在炼他们的火里，     
我什么时候才能象燕子——啊，燕子，燕子，     
阿基坦的王子在塔楼里受到废黜     
这些片断我用来支撑我的断垣残壁     
那么我就照办吧。希罗尼母又发疯了。     
舍己为人。同情。克制。     
平安。平安     
平安。 

II. A GAME OF CHESS
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out                                  
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended                          
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale                             
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring for***eaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.                        
"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.                     
                                                                  


III. THE FIRE SERMON
The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;               
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse                           
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter                                                     
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants                                
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives                       
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,


The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.                                       
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;                                   
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;                                     
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
"Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,                             
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 Greenwich reach
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. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
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 Margate Sands.                                                     
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing."
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
Lord Thou pluckest me out
Lord Thou pluckest                                                    
burning


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
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
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light                            
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,                                 
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
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?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
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

---------------------------------THE END----------------------------------