The Waist Land: A Parody

II A Dame to Bless

  La Chair [trans. the flesh] she sat in, like a sacred robe

  Glowed like polished marble, as if of glass

  Held up by postern lintels wrought with fruited orbs

  From which a Cupid peep hole peeped out

  (Another hid from eyes beneath her golden behind)

  Her eyes like double flames of seven branched candelabra

  Flickering within the house of God Most High

  Reflecting light upon a Showbread Table as

  The glitter of her eyes lowered to greet it or eat it,

  From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

  Like vials of ivory and colored glass

  Unstoppered nipples drooped beneath her strange, enigmatic smiles,

  Pungent lips upcurled, liquid, never troubled or confused

  And bathed her voice sensuous, yet pure as mountain air

  Not fresh or coy as from a harlot's window descending

  To flatter the sailor, to engorge and swell his flame,

  Flung her wispy rhymes into the languid air,

  Stirring rich patterns on proffered faces leaning in near.

  Huge as seascapes painted with wooden ships of yore

  On burnished seas of green or blue or some gemstone hue,

  In whose glad light a caravel dolphin swam

  Beneath an antique crystal vault of heaven thus displayed

  As though celestial windows opened on a forest meadow

  At dusk where pure virgins bathed nude in innocence

  Guarded by watchful nightingales whose clarion calls

  Called the hounds of Artemis so to speak to rend asunder

  In a bloody spectacle who dared deflower these virgins dear,

  And painted on a Grecian urn as dire warning to soiled minds,

  The wicked filth of the disemboweled the only ditty sang here.

  And other tales of withered time in paintings upon the walls, staring forms

  Of epics past, hushed faces telling tales hushing the room enclosed.

  Bare footsteps all but silent gliding down the stairs.

  Under the skylight, under her hand brushed back hair

  Tossing gently as she turned here and there; you know those girls

  Whose hair in sleeping upon awakening she looks in the glass:

  “Oh, my hair is disheveled.” And with a flick of the head

  All falls into place as if she had just left the salon: une fille bénie. [trans. blessed girl]

  “My nerves want caressing tonight. Yes, caressing. Stay with me tonight.

  “Speak to me. What does not matter. Only speak as ever, lovingly speak.

  “What am I thinking? What thinking? What, beloved?

  “So seldom do I sense your reading me. Read, mon cher lecteur, read.

  I think we are in cat's valley

  Where God's lion rattles to life dead men's bones

  “What is that noise?

  “The wind through the sheepfold gate.

  “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?

  “Rousing the sheep again rousing the sheep.

  “Do

  “You know something? Do you see something? Do you remember

  “Something?”

  I remember

  Those are eyes that shine like pearls.

  “Are you revived, or not? Is there something in your head?

  “But

  O O O O that Luciferian Rag - -

  It's so elegiac.

  So sophistic.

  “What shall I say now? What shall I say?

  “I shall call out where I am now, and pray to heaven

  “With head bare and down, so. What shall we pray tomorrow?

  What shall we never pray for?

  “The cold freshet spring at dawn.

  And if it rains, an open cistern on roof, hill and dale.

  And we shall never again play a game of chess or fight war anymore,

  Wiping sleepy lidded eyes and waiting for the knock upon the door.

  When Lila's husband got confirmed, I said --

  I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself

  SLOW DOWN GIRL, PLEASE; IT'S NOT YET TIME

  Now Albert's coming around, make yourself a bit smarter.

  He'll want to know what you've done with that life God gave you

  To get yourself some wisdom teeth. He did, it's all there to see and read.

  You have them all in, Lila, safe and straight, a nice set,

  He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you ignorant and tart

  And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert.

  He's been in the Army for years, he wants a good girl,

  And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.

  Oh, is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.

  Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give(s) me a tart look.

  SLOW DOWN GIRL, PLEASE; IT'S NOT TIME

  If you don't like it you can go to the devil, I said.

  Others can pick and choose if you can't.

  But if Albert makes off it won't be for lack of telling.

  You ought to be ashamed to look so Greco-Roman antiquity, you see.

  (And her not yet twenty-one.)

  I can't help, she said, pulling a long face,

  It's them pills I take, to keep it together, she said.

  (She takes five already, and nearly died with young George.)

  The chemist said it would be all right but I've never been the same.

  Pills for up,

  Pills for down,

  Pills for nerves,

  Pills for sleep,

  Pills for lust!

  You are a proper fool, I said.

  Well, if Albert can't leave you alone, there it is, I said.

  Is Albert God? I said?

  What's it goin' to do to the kids, if you get married? I said.

  SLOW DOWN GIRL, PLEASE; IT'S NOT TIME YET.

  Well, that Sunday Albert came home. She baked an Easter hot gammon.

  And she asked me in to dinner to get the beauty of it hot --

  SLOW DOWN GIRL, PLEASE; IT'S NOT TIME YET.

  SLOW DOWN GIRL, PLEASE, IT'S NOT TIME YET.

  Gooday Bill. Gooday Lou. Gooday May. Gooday.

  Hi-ho, hello, Moe. Gooday. Gooday.

  Good day, ladies, good day, sweet ladies, good day, God's day, good day.