for the man who gave me Eliot ... xxxxx

Turner: Norham Castle Sunrise

Turner: Blue Rigi Lake of Lucerne

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.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.

excerpted from Burnt Norton

(No. 1 of The Four Quartets)
by T.S. Eliot



gz said...

(o) xx

soubriquet said...

The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.


Anonymous said...

This one struck a major chord -- even the title of your post (for not the same reason, obviously, as you intended). Always a major treat to read some Eliot. :) Thanks.

red dirt girl said...

Soubry ~

To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.

a thousand X's

red dirt girl said...

gz ~ thanks!

Mr. Wit ~ Indeed a little Eliot is good for the soul... almost like an apple a day!