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44444444 quartets back

the shame of things ill done and done to others' harm which once you took for exercise of virtue

on the money'
dying is a habit
that's well-known to many
when christ has judged me
who knows what they'll see

accompanies you
since that one night or evening lost
in time now, on which your restless
eyes first deciphered her forever
in a garden or patio turned to dust
misquoting virgil

yet the words sufficed to compel the recognition they preceded and he a face still forming

you would have to put off
sense
and notion
what one had expected
to start again
i may not comprehend, may not remember
although we were not
and now, under conditions that seem unpropitious
and always will be, some of them especially whether on the shores of asia, or in the edgware road, men's curiosity searches past and future and clings to that dimension all these are usual pastimes and drugs, and features of the press
release omens by sortilege, or tea leaves, riddle the inevitable with playing cards, fiddle with pentagrams or barbituric acids, or dissect the recurrent image into pre-conscious terrors- to explore the womb, or tomb, or dreams watching the furrow that widens behind you, you shall not think
you are not the same people who left that station or who will arrive at any terminus, while the narrowing rails slide together behind you
or

the future is before us
the past is finished
not escaping from the past into different lives, or into any future
so krishna, as when he admonished arjuna on the field of battle
the day was breaking
useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce
i do not know much about gods
but i think that the river is a strong brown god - sullen, untamed and intractable, patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier
then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges
but the agony abides
they'll long outlast our oblivion
and never know that we are gone
while the world moves
in appetency, on its metalled ways
of time past and time
future
this is the one way, and the other
is the same, not in movement
but abstention
from movememnt
see, they return, and bring us with them the communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living
and that is where we start
space, time and borges now leaving me
all who have loved me and forgotten
neither daylight investing form with lucid stillness turning shadow into transient beauty with slow rotation suggesting permanence nor darkness to purify the soul emptying the sensual with deprivation cleansing affection from the temporal

you'll never see the bright moon again,
you've now achieved the unalterable
sum of moments
granted you by fate
you are not those who saw the harbour receding, or those who will disembark
fare forward, you who think that you are voyaging

though not to the ear, the murmuring shell of time, and not in any language
a periphrastic study in a worn-out poetical fashion,
leaving one still with the intolerable wrestle
with words and meanings
but this is the nearest, in place and time,
now and in
england


for liberation - not less of love but expanding of love beyond desire, and so liberation from the future as well as the past

the wonder that i feel is easy,
yet ease is cause of wonder
beneath the bleeding hands we feel the sharp compassion of the healer's art resolving the enigma of the fever chart
at the source of the longest river
the voice of the hidden waterfall
and the children in the apple-tree
not known, because
not looked for
but heard, half-heard, in the stillness
between two waves of the sea

we had the experience but missed the meaning,
and approach to the meaning restores the experience
in a different form, beyond any meaning
we can assign to happiness

are likewise permanent with such permanence as time has
whether, or not, due to misunderstanding, having hoped for the wrong things or dreaded the wrong things, is not in question a symbol perfected in death
that the future is a faded song, a royal rose or a lavender spray of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret, pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened
each joining a neighbor, as though speech were a still performance
that their merely being there
means
something
that soon
we may touch, love, explain
i gaze but don't understand it's as if they were strangers