The Waste Land - Performed by Craig Swanson.mov

welcome and thank you I really appreciate all of you taking the time to come and watch me perform this I first off want to thank Evan Williams for initiating this it was his idea to have me perform this it's been five years or more since I have performed it and so there was a lot of scraping the rust off and with that leads me to thank my wife Corrie who is here who is going to be reading book just in case I fall off track and don't remember things I may I may need a line or two and hopefully I will not when I was in fourth or fifth grade I found that I really enjoyed memorizing poems particularly the story poems like Gunga Din or Casey at the bat or charge of the Light Brigade and one of the reasons that I liked to memorize these poems is I have dyslexia who knows how severe but hard enough so that reading is difficult and poetry is really difficult because mostly all of my energy is figuring out what the words are rather than get the cadence but I discovered about that time that if I memorized the lot the poem I could then go off and do it any way I wanted with ever pacing whatever accent whenever I wanted many years later I think it was 1990 I found myself stranded at the City Lights bookstore in San Francisco now if you're like me being stranded in a bookstore is not a horrible thing as Corey point you've called it a sweet torture I think for us book of bibliophiles and I came across a volume of the wasteland the small slim volume I have several of them over there now I'd heard of it I didn't know much about it and I certainly hadn't read it so I opened it up said hey I've memorized poems let's look at this it was absolutely incomprehensible I could not make heads or tails of that thing and I page through and I looked at the back and it had line numbers and the end of the poem has ended it line 434 I thought there is no way I could memorize the and then as the character if anyone watches How I Met Your Mother the character Barney Stinson might say challenge accepted and so from that period of time on I deciced started working on it it was about five years before I finally had it completed not that I spent the entire time working on it the poem is made up of five parts as I said before very fragmented and I found it very difficult to memorize so I started to research it everything I said it's one of the best poems in the 20th century okay it might be if I could actually understand it but that's separate it also said that the original title to this poem was he do the police in different voices now that's a quote from Charles Dickens our mutual friend the widow Betty hid hid guns is describing her son sloppy and said you might not think it but sloppy has a beautiful reader of newspapers he do the police and different voices now there are two things I want that I took away from this that I want to share with you item one imagine the front page of a newspaper has lots of articles you go read one continued on b5 read b5 and finish that's one way to read the newspaper alternatively you could simply read article to article and it would come across very fragmented but it would give you a wash a feeling of the time item two about the quote is like sloppy I decided to it would help me if I read the poem the different characters in different voices and so I'm going to do that for you in fact the goal for me of doing the wasteland is to make it understandable for you and hopefully enjoyable one last thing before I begin he uses many different languages almost all in English fortunately but I wanted to say that because I wanted to apologize in advance for my troche 'us accent and pronunciations i only translate the first piece in the front before the poem actually begins and with that I present to you the wasteland by TS Eliot nom Sybil aam quidam COO may I go EPSA oculis Meis vidiian and pulip and re-echo Mary Pereira declared civil our teeth Eloise responder battle-ax a puffin l Othello translation for once I saw with my own eyes the Sybil of Kume hanging in a cage and when the boy said Sybil what do you want she replied I want to die for Ezra Pound illegally our febrile one the burial of the dead April is the cruelest month breeding lilacs out of the dead land mixing memory and desire stirring dull roots with spring rain winter kept us warm covering earth and forgetful snow feeding a little life with dried tubers summer surprised us coming over the steinberger sea with a shower of rain we stopped in the colonnade and went on in sunlight into the hoff garden and drank coffee and talked for an hour Ben got candle hjerson stemis lit town neck the ridge and when we were children staying at the Archduke's my cousins he took me out on a sled and I was frightened he said Marie Marie hold on tightened down we went the mountains there you feel free I read much the night and go south in the winter what are the roots that clutch what branches grow out of this stony rubbish son of man you cannot say or guess for you know only a heap of broken images with the Sun beats and the dead tree gives no shelter the cricket no relief and the dry stone no sound of water only there is shadow under this red rock come in under the shadow of this red rock and I'll show you something different for me there your shadow striding to meet you in the morning or your shadow at evening rising to meet you I'll show you fear and a handful of dust furtive in the Heimat zoom on Italy shameful file is - you brought me hyacinths first a year ago they called me the hyacinth girl yet when you came back late from the hyacinth garden your arms full and your hair wet I could not speak in my eyes failed I was neither living nor dead and I knew nothing looking into the heart of light the silence Oden lire das meer Madame's a sorceress famous clairvoyant had a bad cold nevertheless is known to be the wisest woman in Europe with a wicked pack of cards here said she is your card the Drowned Phoenician sailor those are pearls that were his eyes look here is belladonna valetti of the rocks a lady of situation here's the man with three stayed and here the wheel and here's the one-eyed merchant and this card which is blank is something he carries on his back which I am forbidden to see I do not find the hangman fear death by water I see crowds of people walking round in a ring thank you and if you see dear mrs. aqua don't tell her I bring the horoscope myself one must be so careful these days unreal city under the brown fog of a winter dawn a crowd flowed over London Bridge so many I had not thought death had undone so many sighs short and infrequent were exhaled and each man fixed his eyes before his feet flowed up the hill and down King William Street to where st. Mary wall north kept the hours with a dead sound on the final stroke of nine there I saw one I knew and called called him Stetson you are with me at the ship's at my Lee that corpse you planted last year in your garden has it begun to sprout will it bloom this year or as the sudden frost disturbed its bed though keep the dog far hence that's friend de men are with his nails and dig it up again you would placate lecture most simple Oh fair to a game of chess the chair she sat in like a burnished throne glowed in the marble where the glass held up by standards wrought with fruited vine from which a golden Cupid on peeped out another hit his eyes behind his wing doubled the flames of seven-branched candelabra reflecting light upon the table as the glitter from her jewels rose to meet it from satin cases poured and rich profusion in vials of ivory colored glass unstop or lurked her strange synthetic perfumes unguent powdered or liquid troubled confused and drowned the sense in odors stirred by the air that freshened from the window these ascended in fattening the prolonged candle flames flung their smoke into the lackey area stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling huge sea wood fed with copper burnt green and orange framed by the colored stone in which sad light a carve a dolphin swam above the antique mantel was displayed as though a window gave upon the Sylvan scene the change of Phil amel by the barbarous King so rudely forced yet there the nightingale filled all the desert with inviolable voice and still she cries and still the world pursues jump jump to thirty years another weathered stumps of time we're told upon the walls staring forms leaned out leaning hushing the room in closed footsteps shuffled on the stair under the firelight under the brush her hair spread out into fiery points glued into words and would be savagely still my nerves are bad tonight yes bad stay with me speak to me why do you never speak speak what are you thinking of what thinking think I never know what you're thinking think I think we were in rats alley where the dead men lost their bones what is that noise the wind under the door what is that noise now what is the wind doing nothing again nothing do you know nothing do you see nothing do you remember nothing I remember those are pearls that were his eyes are you alive or not is there nothing in your head but oh oh that Shakespearean rack so elegant so intelligent what shall I do now what shall I do I shall rush out as I am with my hair down so what should we do tomorrow what should we ever do hot water at 10:00 and if it rains a closed car at 4:00 and we shall play a game of chess pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door when Lee's husband got demobbed I said I didn't mince my words I said to her myself hurry up please it's time now Albert's coming back make yourself a bit smart they want to know what you're done with that money he gave you and get yourself some teeth he did I was there come all out Lille and get a nice set he said I swear I can't bear to look at you no more can't I I said and think of poor Albert he's been in the Army for years and wants a good time and if you don't give it him there's others well I said Oh is there she said something other that I said then I'll know who to thank she said and give me a straight look hurry up please it's time well if you don't like it you can get on with I said others can pick and choose if you can't but if Albert makes off it won't be for lack of talent be ashamed I said to look so antique and her only 31 I can't help but she said pulling a long face it's them pills I took to bring it off she's had five already and nearly died of young George the chemist said I'd be alright but I've never been the same you are a proper fool I said well if Albert won't leave you alone there it is what you have what you get married for if you don't want children hurry up please it's time good night Dale good night Lou good night Mae Tata good night good night good night ladies good night sweet ladies good night good night the fire sermon the rivers tent is broken the last fingers of leaf clutch and sink into the wet Bank the wind crosses the brown land unheard the nymphs are departed sweet Thames run softly till I end my song the river bears no empty bottles sandwich paper silk handkerchiefs cardboard boxes cigarette ends or other testimony of summer nights the nymphs are departed and their friends the ordering heirs of City directors departed have left no addresses by the waters of Lehmann I sat down and wept sweet Thames run softly till I end my song sweet Thames run softly for I speak not loud or long but at my back in a cold blast I hear the rattle of the bones and chuckles spread from ear to ear a rat crept softly through the vegetation dragging its slimy belly on the bank while I was fishing in a dull canal on a winter evening round behind the gas house musing upon the king my brother's wreck and on the King my father's death before him white bodies naked on the low damp ground and bones castes and a little low dry Garret rattled by the rats foot only year to year but at my back from time to time I hear the sound of horns and motors which shall bring Sweeney to mrs. Porter in the spring oh the moon shone bright on mrs. Porter and on her daughter they washed their feet in soda water a savoir Dafa sha na don't look up all pretty twit Jeong Jeong Jeong Jeong Jeong Jeong so rudely forced deru unreal city under the brown fog of a winter noon mister your Jenna DS Smyrna merchant unshaven with a pocketful of currants CIF London documents in sight asked me in demotic French to luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel followed by a weekend at the Metropole at the violet hour when the eye isn't back to enough wood from the desk when the human engine waits like a taxi throbbing haterecy is low blind throbbing between two lives old man with wrinkled female breasts can see at the violet hour the evening hour that brings the Sailor home from sea the typist home at tea time clears her breakfast lights her stove and lays out food in tins out of the window perilously spread her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays on the divan are piled at night her bed stocking slippers camisoles and stays in diet raciest old man with wrinkled uggs perceived the scene and foretold the rest i too awaited the expected guest hey the young man carbuncle arrives a small house agents click with one bold stare one of the low on whom assurance sits as a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire the time is now propitious as he guesses the male has ended she is bored and tired endeavours to engage her in caresses which still are unrepented flushed and decided he assaults at once exploring hands encounter no defense his vanity requires no response and makes a welcome of indifference and I hate her a sheis and for suffered all and acted on this same divine or bed i who have sat by thieves below the wall and walked amongst the lowest of the dead Musto's one final patronizing kiss and gropes his way finding the stairs unlit she turns and looks a moment at the glass hardly aware of her departed lover her brain allows one half form thought to pass no that's done I'm glad it's over when lovely woman Stoops to Folly and paces about her room again alone she smooths her hair with automatic hand and puts a record on the gramophone this music passed by me along the strand of Queen Victoria Street Oh city city I can sometimes hear beside a public bar and lower temps treat the pleasant whining of a mandolin and a clatter and the chatter from within with a fisherman lounge at noon the walls of Magnus Marco hold inexplicable splendor of Ionian white and gold the river sweats oil and tar barges drift with the turning tide red sail why until he word swinging on the heavy spar the barges wash drifting logs down Greenwich reach past the isla dogs Lilla Elizabeth and Lester beating oars the stern was formed a guilty shell red and gold a brisk swell rippled both Shores southwest wind carried downstream appeal of Belle's white towers trams and dusty trees Highbury bore me Richmond than q1 did me by Richmond I raised my knees the pine on the floor of a narrow canoe my feet are at Moorgate in my heart under my feet after the event he wept he promised a new start I made no comment what should I resent on Market sands I can connect nothing with nothing the broken fingernails of dirty hands my people humble people who expect nothing la la to Carthage then I came burning burning burning burning Oh Lord thou cast me out Oh Lord thou kissed burning death by water fleebus the Phoenicians a fortnight dead forgot the cry of gulls and the deep sea swell and the profit-and-loss a current under sea picked his bones in whispers as he rose and fairly passed the stages of his age and youth entering the whirlpool Gentile or Jew oh you who turned the whale and look to windward consider fleebus was once handsome and tall as you 5 what the Thunder said after the torch light right on sweaty faces after the frosty silence in the gardens after the agony in stony places the shouting and the crying prison and palace and reverberation of thunder and spring over distant mountains he was living is now dead we who were living are now dying with the little patience here is no water but only rock rock and no water in the sandy Road the road winding above among the mountains which are mountains of rock without water if there were water we could stop and drink amongst the rock one cannot stop and think sweat is dry and feeder in the sand if only there were water amongst the rock dead mountain mouth of Carius teeth here one can either 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 mud cracked houses if there were water and no rock if they were rock and also water and water a spring a pool amongst the rock if there were the sound of water only not the cicada and the dry grass singing but the sound of water over a rock with a hermit thrush sings and the pine trees drip drop drip job job job job but there is no water who is the third of walks always beside you when I look ahead off the road there was always another standing beside you but I look ahead there was always another I do not know whether a man or a woman but who is that on the other side of you what is the sound high in the mountains murmur of maternal lamentations who are those hooded hordes swarming over endless plain stumbling and cracked earth ringed by the flat horizon only what is the city high in the mountain cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet light falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London unreal a woman drew her long black hair out tight and fiddled whisper music on those strings and bats with baby faces whistled and beat their wings and crawled head downward down a blackened wall and upside down and air were towers tolling reminiscent bells that kept the hours and voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells in this decayed hole among the mountains the grass is singing about the tumbled graves about the chapel there is the chapel only the winds home it has no windows and the door swings dry bones can harm no one only a stood on a roof tree Coco Rico book or a coup in a flash of lightning than a damp gust bringing rain Congo was sunken and the limp leaves waited for rain as the black clouds gathered far distant over him avant the jungle crouched humped in silence then spoke the Thunder ah daata what have we given my friend blood shaking my heart the awful daring of a moment's surrender which an age of prudence can ever attract by this and this only we have existed which is not to be found in our obituaries or in memories draped by the manifest file opened by the lean solicitor in our empty rooms da diadem I heard the key turn in the door once and turned once only we think of the key each and his prison thinking of the key each confirms a prison only at nightfall ethereal rumours revived for a moment a broken Coriolanus ah damn yatta the boat responded gaily to the hand experts say Leonor the sea was calm your heart would have responded gaily when invited beating obedient to controlling hands I sat upon the shore fishing with the arid plain behind me shall I at least set my lands in order London Bridge is falling down falling down plus cozy now Foucault chaykina FINA quando falooda cello da no swallow swallow the plans dakota a littoral early these fragments i have shored against my ruin well then I'll fit you hieronymus Madigan data die anthem damn Jana Shanti Shanti Shanti thank you well I was fun didn't sort of plan anything after this moment then wouldn't want to ask questions about any of this something wrong with your heart different voices two different sections a lot of times reading it over and over again I reserved some of them for the when I perform them to be different to try to do something different each time this one I think I did a little bit differently with the the kind of Sailor guy loyal sweat so entire there was one point where it's Teresa that's a long section where he then then there's that sort of there's a point where he's saying I'm going to for CAF see what the future is and then there's sort of a voice in there about what this future is going to be and I didn't know how to distinguish it and so I decided to try this radio announcer approach and to see if that would work just to sort of distinguish it for myself and I seem to like that so yeah no in fact I really found poems so hard to read but I had I would I would memorize in a wave not having actually read to the end of the play so I could memorize it and then I would do it over and over and over again and then work my way towards it but it's just repetition observations oh yes so this was in the early 90s and I would practice it whenever I possibly could in fact my son was born in 92 and I would I would recite it to him while while he was going to sleep as a bedtime story he didn't seem to mind in fact occasionally more than more than occasionally I would fall asleep first and he would sort of Danny Danny wake up what about a goodnight lady what happens after goodnight and then we picked him up from day school once and preschool and his teacher came and said asked about James of you was all right and I said well what happened and she said well he was sitting in the sand pile with a bunch of other other kids and started giggling to himself and then grabbed a bunch of sand and put it into his other kids face and said I'll show you fear and a handful of dust which they didn't actually find funny I have no idea so well thank you so much I had so much fun presenting it to you guys and I zoomed through it so I must have been going at 100 miles an hour but mostly afraid of what would happen missing something or getting stuck but didn't so you want to stick around ask questions that's great anyone otherwise thank you so much really appreciate it

Channel: Craig Swanson

Views: 20,017

Rating: 4.6137929 out of 5

Keywords: Poetry, T.S.Eliot, Craig Swanson, Memorized, Perspicuity

Id: gRbJS4nWfAU

Length: 27min 47sec (1667 seconds)

Published: Thu Apr 12 2012