The Waste LandI. The Burial of the DeadApril is the cruellest month, breedingLilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, coveringEarth in forgetful snow, feedingA little life with dried tubers.Summer surprised us, coming over the StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,And I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.What are the roots that clutch, what branches growOut of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken images, where the sun beats,一、死者葬仪四月是最残酷的月份,在死地上养育出丁香,扰混了回忆和欲望,用春雨惊醒迟钝的根。冬天使我们温暖,用健忘的雪把大地覆盖,用干瘪的根茎喂养微弱的生命。夏天使人吃惊,它越过施坦贝格湖带来暴雨;我们在柱廊里躲了一阵天晴了继续朝前走,进了皇家花园,我们喝咖啡,聊了一小时,我不是俄国女人,我生在立陶宛,真正的德国人我们小时候,在表哥,大公爵家里小住,他带我坐雪橇,我胆战心惊。他说,玛丽,玛丽,抓紧,于是我们往下滑。在山里,你感到自由。我看书常到深夜,冬天我去南方。什么树根在紧攫?什么树枝从石头垃圾中长出?人子啊,你说不出,猜不着,因为你只认识一大堆破碎的形象,那里赤日炎炎,
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