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T.S.Eliot

The Waste Land

The Waste Land is a 434-line Modernist poem by T. S. Eliot published in 1922. It has been called “one of the most important poems of the 20th century.” Despite the poem's obscurity—its shifts between satire and prophecy, its abrupt and unannounced changes of speaker, location and time, its elegiac but intimidating summoning up of a vast and dissonant range of cultures and literatures—the poem has become a familiar touchstone of modern literature.
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    Make-Believe Worldсподели впечатлениепреди 5 години

    Первые двадцать процентов -- копирайт от Гутенберга. Зато в конце есть авторский комментарий.

    Claudia Rondón Bohórquezсподели впечатлениепреди 5 години
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Цитати

    Make-Believe Worldцитирапреди 5 години
    Datta, dayadhvam, damyata" (Give, sympathize, control)
    b5715170792цитирапреди 4 часа
    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, 10
    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 archduke'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, 20
    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. 3
    Cantika Hanaцитирапреди 2 месеца
    and my eyes failed, I was neither
    Living nor dead, and I knew nothing

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