A description of April as the cruelest month which breeds lilacs out of the lifeless land. The lifeless land is a land of corruption, nepotism and all way of vices. The useless land is profound anguish for the poet, a land numb and paralyzed by the stiffness of the capitalist device which subdues and captures individuality akin to Camus fantasy of the Sisyphus.
Winter has stored is warm covering the earth in forgetful snow feeding a minor existence with dried tubers. Winter points out to severe and narcissistic society caught up in the cauldron of self-pity and self-like. The hulk of capitalism is examined as a disparaging dynamic metaphor.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches expand, out of this stony rubbish? This is highlighting the void of person subjectivity and freedom. Capitalism is a mammoth beast the subjugates person flexibility and there is a lament for seeking the existential elixir of existence.
A heap of damaged visuals where by the sunshine beats, and the lifeless tree provides no shelter and the crickets no relief. The imagery made use of is a potent metaphor to issue out the utter decadence of human values and human dignity. Man has gone away from nature and is residing meaningless and purposeless existence. There is stagnation and anomie, ruin and destruction.
When we arrived again from the hyacinth back garden, I could not communicate, my eyes unsuccessful, and I was neither residing nor lifeless. Is the poet urging to pay remission to the collective conscience of humankind? Is it an exorcism of Freudian Phallic symbolism? The collective conscience is betrayed by the incessant gurgling of capitalist montage. Is there an overweening hubris in composing this verse?
Madam Sosotris is a renowned clairvoyant and she is studying the tarot. The cards which she picks are, the drowned Phoenician sailor, the hanged man, and the one-eyed merchant. Is the discourse on the tarot displaying what is unfertile, decadent and unfulfilled? The roots of existential daily life are compromised with savage adherence to the occult and divination. Is the studying of the playing cards an illusion for the residing of the existential self? Is it a dismissal of the reality that man are unable to bear the responsibilities of the existential self? Is it a perpetration of the violence of the other? Commercialism and vulgar materialism have wounded the entity of remaining civilized.
In the brown fog of wintertime, a crowd is floating on London Bridge. Be aware, the imagery applied as floating resembles in clash of symbols. The themes of loneliness and alienation clash with the violence of egotism and self-enjoy.
The corpse you have planted in the backyard garden has begun to sprout. The utilization of the metaphor as a corpse is an incitement of violence and carnality and it appears to be to be a protuberance of vainness and woundedness. Is what is sprouting a indication of loss of life? Is it the natural beauty of a light flower? Does the poet come to be a cadaver of narcissism?
I believe we are in rat’s alley in which the useless gentlemen lost their bones. Is it a fetish of uncompromising narcissism? Does the meaning of daily life conclusion with dying? Does the soul of the poet clamor for an existential nirvana? Is the poet overburdened with the cares of the earth? Is it a figurative imagery that is epileptic in narcissism?
Oh, that Shakespearean rag it is so stylish it so clever Does the poet seeking to return to a fecund land of idealism? Is it an idiosyncratic gesture of the death of human values? Does the poet feast his eyes on an age of literary glory? Is intelligence a departure from mother nature to an arrival in culture?
The river’s tent is damaged, the final fingers of leaf clutch sink into the moist financial institution. The wind crosses the brown land unheard. All the nymphs have departed? Is the tent a signal of cultural tabernacle that surviving doom and decay? Is it an expression of a social and cultural nihilism? The silence of the wind betrays a plague festering in the human head? The nymphs can be attributed to whores who have departed with their customers. Is the poet portraying the pilferage of human values and human idealism?
The sound of horns and motors shall convey Sweeny to Ms. Porter. Who is the mystic Sweeny and why is he adulterated with the filth of an extramarital partnership? Does the poet place out to the breaking down of chastity and moral values? Is the age a myriad of self-indulging narcissism?
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back again switch upward from the desk, when the human engine waits like a taxi throbbing. Is the violet hour the interval of the environment solar? Human engine is a metaphor for the overall body and it is pulsating with existence for a secretive evening of performing poetry on the bed.
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