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 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
|
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.
|
“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.
|
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.
|
Stranice namenjene odabranoj poeziji i vrhunskoj prozi.
4. 7. 2012.
THE WASTE LAND (II.A GAME OF CHESS)
Пријавите се на:
Објављивање коментара (Atom)
Нема коментара:
Постави коментар