Archive for the ‘T. S. Eliot’ Tag
My old friend, Tom Markey, On The Beach at Vidanta Puerto Peñasco (04/11/13) — Image by kenne
(Tom and I continued to walk, hike, and travel together til his death on August 17, 2022)
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
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Image by kenne
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
— from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by T S Eliot
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This Is Us In Chamoisee Glaze
There is, it seems to us,
A best, only a limited value
In the knowledge derived from experience.
The knowledge imposes a pattern, and falsifies,
For the pattern is new in every moment
And every moment is a new and shocking
Valuation of all we have been.
— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
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Tanuri Ridges Sunset — Photo-artistry by kenne
The words to describe each sunset
are lost, so I seek words
I never thought I should revisit
and urge my mind
to oversight and foresight
on the disfigured clouds —
I watch sunsets,
I photograph existential moments,
I contain multitudes.
— kenne
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A Rainbow As Seen Driving Into 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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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