O City example essay topic

The Waste Landry T.S. Eliot Part 1 - Burial of the Dead 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 StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the HofgartenAnd drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar kein e Russ in, stamp' 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 ca not say, or guess, for you know only 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 evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a hand full of dust. Fish we ht der Wind Der Heim at zu Mein Irish Kind, Wo wei lest 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 clairvoyant e, 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. Equi tone, 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 Wool noth 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 My lae " 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?' O keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,' Or with his nails he " ll dig it up again!' You! hypocrite lect eur! -- mon semblable, -- mon frere!' Part 2 - 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 Cupid on peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of seven-branched candleabraReflecting 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 glassUnstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfume Unguent, powdered, or liquid -- troubled, vondusedAnd 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, Stirring the pattern on the c offered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the colored 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 forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footstpes 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 t-night.

Yes, bad. Stay with me.'s peak 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 rat's 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 pearls that were his eyes.

' Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?' But 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, 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 for 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 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 had five already and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, 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 -- HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goodnight Bill. Goodnight Lou. Goodnight May.

Goodnight. Ta ta. Goodnight. Goodnight.

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. Part 3 - 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 bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouseMusing upon the king my brother's wreck And 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 void d'enfants, chan tant dans la couple! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely for " dTereuUnreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eumenides, 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 dugsPerceived 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 are still unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at one; Exploring hands rencounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference.

(And I Tiresias have fore suffered 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 patronizing kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit... She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed love; 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 smooths 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 mandolin And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fish men 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 lei a Wallala 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 lei a Wallala '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 Moor gate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promise '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 O Lord Thou pluck est me out O Lord Thou pluck est burning Part 4 - Death by WaterPhelbas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea.