The Waste Land (TS Eliot) read by Alec Guinness

[@violetsweet1660]

i wonder how much damage critics have done to this poem by being so insistent about its difficulty. i'm convinced that if you just listen, you will find something. this is a poem of incredible warmth and deep sorrow, and those come across so wonderfully in this reading. you don't have to know who tiresias is; just listen to the nightingale and her inviolable voice.

[@rachelwoods2279]

Eliot himself stated that it was far easier to understand a poem without any guidelines to what you should be understanding.

[@DimWeasel]

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

[@chavrossavros]

It’s a poem to be read aloud and performed, not to be read silently

[@halfstep44]

"Presents significant challenges to the reader" blah blah blah.....I know I've heard them all. You may as well tell people that "this is going to be torture"

[@kannadable]

There are as many versions of the poem as those who choose to struggle with it. I guess we need to do ourselves a favor when we read it or cannot help thinking about it since it just won't leave us alone. Forget what Eliot, Pound, or anybody else has said about it. All lasting works of art carry with them the burden of anecdotage.

[@toriidawdy8456]

I have spent 50 years with this poem. Trying to memorize it and amazed at my "new" favorite part. "The Golden Bough " revieled itself and The Upishandis ripped open a bottomless rabbit hole. I learned german and why there is always more than expected on this trek. It wants you to know . Its has no secrets. The thin volume fits great in back pocket of my work pants

[@comraderaoul]

This is my favorite comment I've ever read on youtube.

[@philliphutson7903]

beautiful comment

[@abhishek-euphony-and-euphoria]

Nobody talked about sir alec guiness…such superb performance, bring the poem to life

[@DavidAndersen84]

I agree.

[@saragautham]

Obi Wan Kenobi!

[@davidtyndall3786]

Bravo abravi . ODB be bmasyinh itinerary kingdo. !!!!

[@davidtyndall3786]

Beavis said. Huhhuh. Koool!!!@

[@davidtyndall3786]

And then We needed teepee for our bungholes . Teepee. - Col. holio

[@speckle910]

What a wonderful interpretation by the late Sir Alec Guinness! In my view it is far superior to Eliot's own reading. At the age of 82 I am a latecomer to Eliot, and to poetry generally and whilst I don't profess to understand everything in what is generally accepted as a difficult poem to get to grips with, this reading certainly helped.

[@TheMimifur]

Utter bliss. The poem and the reader. This in my view is the definitive recording of The Waste Land. I prefer it to Eliot's own reading. And it's not such a hard understand. It's just about life. Thank you so much for putting this up here.

[@irenemax3574]

Ditto!

[@nickjohnson8495]

Saying it’s just about life is not true and utterly belittling. “Life” has nothing to do with it

[@skatingcrowproductions2301]

"Life" has less to do with it than death... or maybe more aptly put it has to do with what are now ghostly cues toward clues to reveal dark secrets. Check out this video on what T.S. Eliot has to do with the Zodiac Killer. kzbin.info/www/bejne/pJTKkoh7mq2EhrM

[@NaSamymDnie16400]

>I read much of the night and go south in the winter WTF I love T.S. Eliot now

[@clairejones1063]

I agree, it’s utterly brilliant!! Never get tired of reading or indeed listening to it. The fire sermon is my favourite, takes me somewhere not known to man, simply beautiful Xxx

[@eyesofthelaw]

April is the cruelest month.... enjoying this under COVID lockdown

[@andrewhunter2520]

☝️

[@ivanvinope]

Same here. Genius.

[@jamesbovington8218]

Hadn't made the link well done.

[@CowyGriffon]

April is the cruellest month

[@anactualotter6216]

Anyone ready for round two? Woop woop

[@phillipbrandel7932]

<a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="6">0:06</a> I. The Burial of the Dead <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="294">4:54</a> II. A Game of Chess <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="611">10:11</a> III. The Fire Sermon <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1053">17:33</a> IV. Death by Water <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1090">18:10</a> V. What the Thunder Said

[@fnkmastrbloopdebloop]

Thanks friends!

[@imlafonz8047]

@Thomas Bell Is the poem much different without those divisions?

[@Hawkwood96]

I wrote my undergrad capstone and my graduate thesis on The Waste Land, and I'm still gleaning new tidbits every fifth listen/read-through.

[@sleepylucia9335]

i'm so happy to have found this! "the waste land" is such a beautiful, personal poem and guinness does a masterful job in conveying all those themes of sorrow and loss and life in his reading of it.

[@adamkossoff7377]

‘These fragments I have shored against my ruins.’ His ruins, the ruins of his passing life, the ruins of his country...

[@stvtron]

<a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="103">1:43</a> - And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

[@hannahzwic5975]

stvtron that scared me

[@joanduthie1689]

I can’t help but think of Steven King when I read this part. I love the little bits of poetry he puts in before the beginning of each of the Dark Tower books.

[@nickpolycandriotes1484]

@guth Any language. These lyrics are......(sorry I can't find the words).

[@Beantbeantbeant]

Reminds me of DC comics "Sandman" By Neil Gaiman, "I Will show you fear in a handful of dust" was the tagline for the marketing

[@finger420]

Uncharted 3

[@ceridwen7785]

I have read The Wastelands many times since I first heard it as an angst filled teen, living in a small, coastal, Welsh village and I thought I loved it Having just listened to this reading, I am transported. I don't think I have ever been so moved...

[@sandiarnp]

Eliots words evoke intense emotion because he suffered terribly in his life. In his poetry is his gift of sharing his grief and his joy. The four quartets are a lifetime of reading and contemplating in and of themselves. How I wish I could have met him.

[@patriciagleve4784]

i think you may have been disappointed.

[@didntlistendad]

Perhaps his best is in his poetry. Such a gift to us.

[@ranisrikumar5735]

🎉❤

[@TomorrowWeLive]

When I first read this poem as a teen, I didn't get it. It did nothing for me. Now, after revisiting it several times over the years, and with the help of performances like this and Fiona Shaw's, I think I get it, or at least bits of it. Poetry is one of those things that does grow on you, and with Eliot, especially, there are always more shades of meaning to be found.

[@spacemunky53]

Shades of meanings found thanx to ezra pound.

[@holograMMarXIV]

Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!

[@TomorrowWeLive]

@@spacemunky53 I like Ezra Pound's commentary/criticism. Unfortunately can't abide his poetry though.

[@bonnie_gail]

Tomorrow We Live snapshots of life that fully engage one life at a time

[@toriidawdy8456]

This classic is wonderfully footnoted . Great themes are dog eared and are lyrics themselves. They offer little understanding but another layer of uberelliot

[@clairejones1063]

If you like this, make sure you read Four Quartets as well. His poetry is simply beautiful and captivating Xxx

[@TomorrowWeLive]

I never used to like this poem, but it's grown on me. Particular moments are extremely evocative.

[@willb3698]

Tomorrow We Live - Yes: Helps to have it read so well.

[@Rainbow_Quartz]

I was so confused and wasn't even sure I liked, it got worse and worse with the first two parts but then it started to get better and more awesome and a little more clearer, than I got to What The Thunder Said and that was just awesome and so beautifully surreal.

[@onthetrail506]

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.

[@AmericanPsychonautV]

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .

[@ceriwilliams4929]

Great reading of a great poem, I can listen to this over and over again. Thank you so much for posting!

[@PictureDorianPiana]

>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 Matthew <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1100">18:20</a> “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them”

[@markhughes7927]

Was thinking as I listened to that part of the road to Emaus - yours seems the closer reference - but then perhaps Matthew’s is an elaboration of that singular journey. The portrait of the dry rocks without water reminds of the Exodus experience where Moses momentarily loses faith - is that the intended allusion do you think?

[@davidtyndall3786]

Bravo good citizen ! Bravo

[@davidtyndall3786]

Possibly Creator, destroyer and I. Or the 3 sisters. Life fate and death. Just a thought from a 7 th grade flunkie

[@davidtyndall3786]

Goes great with misses riding hood. The girl grew up to runnith with 🐺 🦊 🐺 🦊 🐺 🦊 🐺

[@glenncambray9783]

No need for biblical sources here. I believe this comes from Eliot's reading of Ernest Shakleton.

[@etowahman1]

Beautiful words read with exquisite beauty and grace by a consummate professional.

[@DM-nh3wd]

A wonderful treat - cannot believe this only has a few thousand views.

[@TheMimifur]

You'll see far more views now. Poss early low number cos many like me had given up searching for several years. I first heard this reading on BBC Radio Three several decades ago. When youtube arrived, I searched avidly but it wasn't there. Eliot's own reading has been available for years, but quite frankly, it is dull!! As so often the case with poets reading their own work. It's just a joy that we have this now and thank you so much to modelsandjuniors for giving this back to me. Oh and in the original broadcast, Guiness reads Prufrock first, then Sir Stephen Spender talks a bit about the poems. That would be a lovely thing to hear.

[@nyar369]

It seems all of the beautiful things in this world will only get a few thousand views, my friend. :(

[@TopCutsAudio]

now it has over 200,000 views

[@jl-fz3um]

A poem wretched in substance. The perceived beauty of the individual lines is what keeps it going.

[@jrb4935]

Your comment is wretched in substance and has no redeeming beauty.

[@davey2363]

First class. A masterclass in spoken English.

[@justins7796]

I had to swing by this video in case my depression went away.

[@mrJohnDesiderio]

Keep watching Tucker and you’ll witness “The Wasteland” of thought.

[@gregoropesa5028]

John Desiderio hmm. My Lit teacher quoted you today

[@Niovo]

big mood

[@williamnordwall787]

@@Niovo Hej Anirudh

[@Niovo]

@@williamnordwall787 hej william hahah

[@elliottcoffman6389]

I love this poem, and wrote my senior capstone on it. So much of this has to do with death and rebirth, from the references to many vegetation gods, to the rise and fall of great cities, to the references to the Golden Bough and the Fisher King. Too much for one comment to contain, but every time I listen to this or read it I always wind up unpacking a little bit more. Truly a masterpiece, even if its meaning remains elusive to the average reader.

[@spacemunky53]

A masterpiece of pretentious shite christ poor ezra had his work cut out mentoring this prick...thank god for eustace mullins!!

[@hamstergirl-ii7su]

hi- is there any way you could send me your senior capstone? i'm doing a big report on this and im looking for other perspectives :)

[@nathanielbeha833]

​@@hamstergirl-ii7su and here I am 3 years later writing on this very same poem.

[@radhekrishnavrindavanam8077]

Awesome rendering. Took me through the life of the lines. The journey around the world in 24 minutes.Thank you.

[@DazeOfOurLies]

I do not find The Hanged Man Fear death by water

[@justanotherpoet2542]

To say this is a beautiful reading does not convey what beautiful encapsulates when so much of lesser beauty occupies the same. This is exquisite. Alec Guinness has brought Eliot alive like Richard Burton brings alive Dylan Thomas in his KZbin uploaded recordings. Thank you so much for sharing.

[@spacemunky53]

No one would of beeeleaved din din dinnnnn

[@derasor]

"Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current undersea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you." <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1348">22:28</a> "The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract"

[@ManichaeanMannequin]

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consider_Phlebas

[@irenejohnston6802]

I live with that, impulsive innocence/stupidity, 1958. This is how I read it. The awful daring of a moment's surrender which an age of prudence cannot retract. 81 yrs of age

[@derasor]

@@irenejohnston6802 like some wise Viking said; No regrets, and every single regret. Cheers!

[@ShrunkenMan79]

This poem must have left quite an impression on the late, great Scottish author, Iain Banks, for these lines formed the introductory quotation and title on his debut sci-fi novel "Consider Phlebas". It was years later after having read the book as well as his much more masterful follow up novels, that my curiosity was turned full circle and I searched for the meaning behind these lines.

[@MatDale]

" I will show you fear in a handful of dust." This line was first brought to my attention in Stephen King's, "The Dark Tower" series. The same line being in Neil Gaiman's, "The Sandman" only solidified my necessity to seek out the original source of this material, and I am thoroughly pleased with it.

[@samharness24271]

Long days and pleasant nights.

[@jassingh8215]

The Scarecrow from Batman also references that line, so it's rather popular in media it seems

[@MatDale]

@@samharness24271 may you have twice the number

[@mortalclown3812]

Love the opening thumbnail of Sir Alec behind an imposing pocketbook. Might be time to rewatch his turn as George Smylie. Rest in paradise.

[@jarrodlacy9856]

Thank you for this incredible treat.

[@christophervanasse9911]

The way this starts, “April is the cruelest month” always made me so confused when I was younger. How could someone in their twenties juxtapose the revitalization of spring with winter hiding a wasteland of damage. I don’t pretend to understand most of this poem, but I’m starting to see fragments of clarity.

[@davidhorn2248]

A suggestion by Ezra Pound ...

[@Hastenforthedawm]

Probably my favorite poem and one of my favorite readings of it, Alec kills it

[@iqrasalim134]

So grateful for this upload ✨❤️💕

[@ahmedsalah2359]

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.

[@rosalindbaxter36]

Game of Chess - this poem predicts the future, as the boredom of the idle rich in wartime (quarantine)

[@bonnie_gail]

Ahmed Salah mind blown

[@d3nza482]

@@rosalindbaxter36 🙄Oh... Wow... What deep insight. Indeed... WHAT insight? All I see is a handful of dust. 😑

[@nbenefiel]

I think the proudest moment of my high school life was when I could read the Wasteland without needing any translation.

[@finnbarsnowdrop545]

Quality. Absolutely top drawer. Found a copy of this in perfect nick in a London skip along with some Dylan Thomas, Ralph Richardson readings and the Burton Under Milkwood. Beautiful recording on the vinyl although this upload is a bit boomy. A good lesson for actors in how to read poetry; it's a different kind of use of the voice from stagework - it's about carving and polishing the words out of the air and making as much use of silence and sustain as an instrumentalist.

[@caroltaylor3414]

I'm going to memorize that phrase "it's about carving and polishing the words out of the air". Gorgeous description of this reading.

[@irenemax3574]

Finnbar Snowdrop Man, those are treasures! I can’t help feeling disappointed that the Waste Land was in perfect nick: somebody had it in their collection but never listened to it.

[@mottopanukeiku7406]

This guy sounds just like Prince Faisal- "No Arab loves the desert. We love water and green trees. There is nothing in the desert and no man needs nothing." His cadence and accent are so close to what you hear in Lawrence of Arabia. Wow, to have command of language, speaking, tone like this.. . . . . Thanks for posting this. First time I have heard it read aloud.

[@HEHEHE_I_AM_A_MASKED_WARRIA]

Alec Guinness also played that character.

[@mottopanukeiku7406]

@@HEHEHE_I_AM_A_MASKED_WARRIA Indeed.

[@johnsing1833]

wonderful.. , amazing reading by Alec Guinness

[@thefisherking78]

I have yet to find a bigger Eliot fan than myself, and as far as I'm concerned he reads it better than TSE did.

[@Idmoment]

Well- I am obsessed w his poetry. Absolutely the MASTER. Did you know when Eliot worked in editing at Faber he published WH Auden first poems ? He spotted his greatness immediately.

[@thefisherking78]

@@Idmoment i did not!!

[@louisew5795]

Love the start to Thunder, how his voice changes. lost, out of place, desperate feeling, no water, dry, otherworldly. Me and my husband have also been discussing the 'da' s. I still feel the da is loud and the dhatata (etc) is like a rumble after, an echo....my husband has always read the da and dhatata (etc) as all loud, like an interruption

[@clairejones1063]

I go back to this poem time and time again. One of the best. Read out aloud and feel the language slip from your mouth, simply beautiful. Thank you Elliot you have made your mark on literature 👍

[@louisew5795]

Have grown so much more appreciation for reading these outloud - somehow gain more from speaking it - 'a current under sea picked his bones in whispers' ❤️

[@thefisherking78]

How many times did I listen to this before I realized he says "schled" at <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="55">0:55</a>? 😂😂😂

[@colinmcom14]

Fantastic poem and performance. It really shows how devastated the world was by WW1.

[@johnparinellojr.2035]

This is absolute magic it's going to be really hard to play chess with this playing.

[@WorldPeace-AdamNeira]

A wonderful reading of a great poem. Thank you for uploading it. I find it interesting that TS Eliot referred in this piece to Petronius, Satyricon Chapter 48: “Yes, and I myself with my own eyes saw the Sibyl hanging in a cage; and when the boys cried at her: Sibyl, Sibyl, what do you want?' 'I would that I were dead,' she used to answer.” Also, that Isaac Asimov in his short story about the omniescent, problem solving computer MULTIVAC "All the Troubles of the World" uses this quote from the Sibyl. 😎 Adam Neira Founder of World Peace 2050 Founded in April 2000 Paris - Jerusalem - France

[@federicabianchi8031]

I love this so much I'm speechless.

[@gregcugola779]

Far too may words. Like any good sauce, Condense Eliot into a word, Not a sentence. A paragraph, Nor a tome. There’s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield, And the ricks stand grey to the sun, Singing: ‘Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover, ‘And your English summer's done.’ Kipling nails it.

[@martinhasson4942]

GUINNESS GIVES YOU STRENGTH! The " velvet voice " of a great knight in harmony to the singular inner voice of " the man ".........T S Eliot 📃 📝📖📄📓📕🖍🖋🖊

[@spacemunky53]

Pure genius

[@sjpriv]

thank you for this masterpiece

[@cliffordbernard7663]

A passionate cry against absence of passion

[@docbones213]

Of course I know him. He's me.

[@999TnO]

Elliot is brilliant and so natural

[@WyrdTajls]

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall. And walked among the lowest of the dead.

[@andrewdavidpomeroy2922]

This is an otherwise magical reading, but his German accent does sound a bit like Dracula...

[@jamesdolan4042]

German accent? He is not German. In actual fact, he is probably among the great English actors of a generation that included Lawerence Olivia (English), Richard Burton (Welsh), Peter O Tool (ex Pat), etc.

[@FlyingTeacup]

You mean a Saxon accent? Yea very Nordic. 🙈

[@gageamonette5120]

@@jamesdolan4042 He's referring to the German language portion of the poem.

[@jamesdolan4042]

@@gageamonette5120 And what is the German language part of the poem? Let me know, and thanks.

[@gageamonette5120]

@@jamesdolan4042 Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. and Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? and Oed’ und leer das Meer. That's all the German in the poem as far as I know.

[@JetLagRecords]

modelsandjuniors, Your videos always make me happy, so I subscribed!

[@milycome]

.......in the mountains, there you feel free. A soooo wonderful mixture of a childhood immersed in the large expanse of nature (the mountains) intwined in the fear and abandonment of a childhood experience of the thrill of a journey by sled down a snow covered mountainside. WOW !!!!!!!!

[@markhunt575]

My daughter and her husband moved from Boston to Lausanne in 2017, my grandson turned one June 23, I never knew Eliot wrote this poem while in Lausanne until last week, as my daughter is 1/2:Irish ancestry on my side I particularly love why do you tarry my Irish child, and I know her mother loves the poem I asked her to show her mother the provenance of the poem

[@c.s.hayden3022]

The real kick in the balls is he was thirty-four when he wrote this. At least we know what can happen when natural talent, great influences and timing work together. You could shoot for this level of quality and still miss beautifully. New voices for new times.

[@d3nza482]

Back when he was born, US life expectancy was 44 years. And the real kick in the balls came from a groin hernia he was born with.

[@georgeparkins777]

He do the characters in different voices!

[@ParadoXDestinY]

ŠΔNTI ŠΔNTI ŠΔNTI

[@alissasattentau7442]

Brilliant

[@37Dionysos]

I like Joyce's parody----"November is the wettest month, getting through all impermeables...."

[@BourgeoisQueen]

“This music crept by me upon the waters.”

[@saimariaz5299]

One of the most beautiful poem in English Literature.

[@cmlandresc]

gives me goosebumps

[@jennyr4057]

this is downright ASMR

[@AikiDoge]

Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him.

[@ZOGGYDOGGY]

T.S. was born in St. Louis, Misery. He went to Harvard and got a doctorate in literature. He made his living as a banker and dressed like one. He emigrated to Britain and became a British subject. "The Wasteland" was first published in "Criterion" , the magazine he edited. It has been 100 years since October, 1922. Elliot's nightmare goes on. Who better to tell the tale than a well educated bourgeois financier?

[@tomjung1067]

This poem became in big parts my life, its like a precise description of big parts of my life, the guy was magic. Magic like cg jung writings. Their writing is a living thing, Like only some religious writings Can be magic. Every time i carry my water up a dry, dusty mountain road in spain I am still amazed how he described in what i read in 1991, written longtime before, would be my life in 2021. ❤️

[@annavisser2848]

This is brilliant! Thanks a lot!

[@GustavoPertuzTapia]

An amazing treat... Thank you

[@itsjuno4467]

interesting how alec's various character voices betray his particular interpretations of when exactly the speaker changes throughout the poem, which isn't always made obvious by the text. like how in the first stanza he switches from his default english accent to a mock-german one only once he gets to "summer surprised us..."

[@ThePoliticrat]

This is like if Oswald Spengler’s “The Decline of the West” was a poem. Eliot was 100% inspired by his favorite historian.

[@TheCarbunkleofTruth]

These are not the dried tubers you are looking for ✋️

[@paulavery1912]

This is the first time I have heard this recording. I don't how well read it was, but will guess because it was Sir Alec Guinness reading a poem by T.S. Eliot it must be something well done. Did I enjoy the different sections? They were interesting. I have read this poem to myself before in my head and out loud several years ago. I get some of the cultural and mythological allusions. I get the poem is working on multiple levels, but am guessing as to what those levels are. One day I may study it carefully. Thank you for posting the video.

[@jman7826]

Imagine a reading of the couple’s conversation in “a game of chess” read by Frank and Estelle Costanza at their most exasperated

[@1968KWT]

The poem was published exactly 100 years ago in the October issue of _The Criterion_ #TheWasteLand100

[@ammuananthan7521]

Thank you, Sir..

[@HarlotQueenVII]

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel.

[@NaSamymDnie16400]

>I read much of the night and go south in the winter WTF I love T.S. Eliot now

[@samuellevrai7673]

absolutly delightfull

[@AdamantEve]

My friend, blood shaking my heart.

[@markhughes7927]

Very nice - beautifully read and communicated. Had thought Eliot a cold fish and great to be deceived in that thought.

[@moonbeamchaos]

I marvel at Eliot's erudition.

[@amicidialfio3947]

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? “You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; “They called me the hyacinth girl.” -Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oed’ und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson! “You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! “That corpse you planted last year in your garden, “Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? “Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? “Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, “Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! “You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frère!”

[@nobunnyspecial]

I cried the whole time, I don’t know why

[@jamesboyle5232]

fuck off you absolute melt

[@nobunnyspecial]

James Boyle why

[@jamesboyle5232]

@@nobunnyspecial because i told you too. Get a fucking grip

[@BlimaWormtong]

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards

[@nobunnyspecial]

BlimaWormtong thanks

[@张潇翔想象]

thank you so much for your performance

[@marianoestebanm]

Perfection. Thank you!

[@augustehill]

sublime!

[@MarvelBoi44]

But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear

[@HoarseHorseMerger]

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats

[@irenejohnston6802]

Tell that to Time Team.

[@mendigoanal]

At <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1334">22:14</a> he reads: "Then the thunder spoke"... but in my edition of the poem it appears as follows: "Then spoke the thunder". Are there different versions of the poem (except, of course, the original drafts)???

[@VanillaAliXVII]

ditto

[@andynowicki4532]

He read it wrong. Maybe going by memory?

[@mendigoanal]

@@andynowicki4532 It's possible! : )

[@tsubarashiii6251]

<a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="437">7:17</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="277">4:37</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="287">4:47</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="438">7:18</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="512">8:32</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="170">2:50</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="119">1:59</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="129">2:09</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="654">10:54</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="710">11:50</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="776">12:56</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1083">18:03</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="728">12:08</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="840">14:00</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="863">14:23</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="992">16:32</a> <a href="#" class="seekto" data-time="1197">19:57</a>

[@mohanvalrani]

Thank you very much

[@Naa_Narratives]

Game of Chess The Chair she sat in, like a burnished thone, 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 carvèd 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 forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Clawed into words, then would be savagely still. “My nerves are bad tonight. 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 the 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 tomorrow? “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. When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said- I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don’t give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said, Others can pick and choose if you can’t. But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don’t want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot- HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

[@irenemax3574]

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 mud racked 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 (Edit:when I read through, I discovered that Auto correct had changed CARIOUS to VARIOUS. Chortle)

[@Saba-mz8of]

Brilliant!

[@pamelar3232]

Marvelous!

[@HughJason]

Thank you so much for this.

[@josiahdent3302]

Alec Guiness has a beautiful voice amd there are several segments i really like but even after reading through the York notes this poem, overall, doesnt really move me. I have listened to it through for five or six nights now. Maybe one day.

[@bonnie_gail]

Josiah Dent there is nothing “to get” really; writing is an invitation to engage your imagination, challenging one to focus one’s imagination and trusting the writer to take you on their journey

[@TeenageMutantNeckTurtle]

The jungle crouched, humped in silence

[@MusselsFromBrussels15]

The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same

[@ScarJaw23]

Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold