Archive for the ‘T. S. Eliot’ Tag

To Make An End Is To Make A Beginning   Leave a comment

Anna’s Hummingbird — Image by kenne

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph.

— from Little Gidding by T. S. Eliot

A Reunion, But For The Wrong Reason   1 comment

Three years ago this past August, Matt, Ty, Tom, and I were getting ready to get on the Tuichi River in the Bolivian Amazon.
It was an adventure of a lifetime that was being recalled as we gathered at the Quaker Meeting House in Tucson
for a memorial service for Tom Markey — sharing happy times in a moment of sadness.  (August 20, 2019)– Image by kenne

“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?”

— T. S. Eliot

Tom and I Shared a Tent Each Night On the River

Golden Columbine On Mt. Lemmon   3 comments

Golden Columbine On Mt. Lemmon, July 2022 — Image by kenne

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire

Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Flycatcher Art: The Unattended Moment   Leave a comment

Flycatcher in Flight — Photo-Artistry by kenne

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.

— from Four Quartets, “The Dry Salvages” by T. S. Eliot

 

Sullivan Island Beach Scene   1 comment

Sullivan’s Island Beach — Photo-Artistry by kenne

"Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age
   To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort. 
   First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise 
   But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit 
   As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage 
   At human folly, and the laceration 
   Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment 
   Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
   Of motives late revealed, and the awareness
Of things ill done and done to others' harm
   Which once you took for exercise of virtue."

-- T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets


Marina On The Bay   Leave a comment

Marina On the Bay — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place

What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger —
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.

— from Marina by T. S. Eliot

Here We Go Round The Prickly Pear   1 comment

Prickly Pear — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o’clock in the morning.

   
    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow

— from The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot

Coyote Fence Corral   Leave a comment

Coyote Fence Corral In Doubtful Canyon — Images by kenne

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 mudcracked 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

— from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot 

Shore Life   1 comment

Shore Life — Photo-Artistry by kenne

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.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

January Sunrise, Tanuri Ridge   2 comments

January Sunrise, Tanuri Ridge — Image by kenne

What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Fallen Leaves   Leave a comment

Fallen Leaves On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat
Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
Wait for the early owl.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

A Tucson Sunset   2 comments

A Tucson Sunset — Image by kenne

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls 
Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat
Hypnotised.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Tom’s Signature

Eliot’s Four Quartets rests on my desk not only because I love his poetic masterpiece
but because my first copy was given to me by my brother, Tom, who wrote
“. . . I’ve become obsessed with it . . . with time . . . with memory . . . with language,
all of which are concentrated in this work. It has become such a part of me.”

Tom went on to write — “To use a few of Eliot’s words; ‘As we grow older the world
becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated . . . ‘ Complications, ambiguities, non sequitur
I keep searching for clarity . . . lucidity, and I know each time I seek that, I’ll
become more entangled. No. I’m not bored—just Scarred. I’m moving toward a sort-of silence . . .
I know what you’re thinking: ‘Bull-shit!’ Since the significant things, I want to say
have the wrong inflections, intonations for most arenas of conversation;
I ramble on into oblivion. A series of non sequitur.” (7/27/84)

I miss Tom.

— kenne

Old Western Morning   1 comment

Giffords OfficeOld Western Morning (Sonoran Desert) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

We have taken from the defeated

What they had to leave us — a symbol:

A symbol perfected in death.

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

By the purification of the motive

I the ground of our beseeching.

from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Two-Windows   1 comment

Tucson Folk Festival 2013Two-Windows (Tucson Arizona) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Go, go, go, said the bird: humankind

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.

— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Love Is Itself Unmoving   5 comments

Chase w Cap I-art-3-72-2Chase Morris — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.

— Four Quarters by T.S. Eliot

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