#4 quartets

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Two Selections— 

1.

From FOUR QUARTETS T.S. Eliot (No. 3 of 'Four Quartets') 

The river is within us, the sea is all about us; The sea is the land's edge also, the granite Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses Its hints of earlier and other creation:

The sea has many voices.... the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence

For most of us, there is only the unattended Moment, the moment in and out of time, The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight, The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While the music lasts.

These are only hints and guesses, Hints followed by guesses; and the rest Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action. The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation. Here the impossible union Of spheres of existence is actual.... And right action is freedom From past and future also. For most of us, this is the aim Never here to be realised.... The life of significant soil.

And...2.

“There's no vocabulary for love within a family, love that's lived in but not looked at, love within the light of which all else is seen, the love within which all other love finds speech. This love is silent.”

The Elder Statesman—first performed in 1958—his last play: published in 1959.

[Thanks so much always to Sharon Moon]

[randomfoggytiger]

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years— Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres Trying to use words, and every attempt Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure Because one has only learnt to get the better of words For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate With shabby equipment always deteriorating In the general mess of imprecision of feeling, Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer By strength and submission, has already been discovered Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope To emulate—but there is no competition— There is only the fight to recover what has been lost And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss. For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

4 Quartets, 2: East Coker

T. S. Eliot

[sumpix]

  BURNT NORTON (No. 1 of 'Four Quartets') I Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind.                             But to what purpose Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves I do not know.                        Other echoes Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow? Quick, said the bird, find them, find them, Round the corner. Through the first gate, Into our first world, shall we follow The deception of the thrush? Into our first world. There they were, dignified, invisible, Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves, In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air, And the bird called, in response to The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery, And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses Had the look of flowers that are looked at. There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting. So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern, Along the empty alley, into the box circle, To look down into the drained pool. Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged, And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight, And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly, The surface glittered out of heart of light, And they were behind us, reflected in the pool. Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty. Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children, Hidden excitedly, containing laughter. Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present.

Burnt Norton

[pensive-musing]

time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future and time future contained in time past. if all time is eternally present all time is unredeemable. what might have been is an abstraction remaining a perpetual possibility only in a world of speculation. what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present. footfalls echo in the memory down the passage which we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose-garden. my words echo -t.s. elliot

[simply-complicated-curiosit-blog]

We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot

[michael--price]

I love Instagram, so made this little slideshow with one picture each from all the other Instagrammers credited at the end. The music is from the 4 Quartets EP which is here. http://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/4-quartets-ep-ep/id527455968 

Follow me on Instagram on michael__price and say hi if you want to join in on the next one!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A Poem For Sunday

From "The Four Quartets" by T.S. Eliot:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

The poem continues. Amit Majmudar analyzes the work of T.S. and Kay Ryan as the two major philosophical poets.

(Image by Markus Reugels)