Thinking of Eliot

“…”This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.”…
T.S. Eliot.

And though I have always been moved profoundly by Ash Wednesday, it is this stanza that has stayed in mind and I’ve recited it, rather repeatedly the words, some of the words have come to mind in waves of words and memories on levels deep and vastly in disarray, I have remembered and recalled the curiosity and idea of the blue rocks and the three dreams which crossed, have supplanted previously my view subjectively and of course ignorantly -poetry after all, is universal and intensely personal.

Our self-conscious correctness I never saw then, but see it now and the three dreams which crossed were the dreams of me, you and the woman who stole your heart. Our rocks are purple, and the eyes that watch are the eyes that see farther and deeper in the space between purple rocks. Shall I say I have my way, and will it relieve you of the intensity of the pain I still feel for and of you.


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