||[Mar. 24th, 2006|06:00 pm]
Citing Literary Works
|||||Over the Moor to Maggie (celtic tune)||]|
I just finished a book by Francesca Lia Block, called Wasteland. It was really good, a little confusing at times but really touching and there were some parts that I just fell in love with. One of them is a poem that wasn't written by her, but it is called Marina, and it's by T.S. Eliot.
"Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga?
What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lappping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning
Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place
What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger-
Given or lent? More distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all waters meet.
Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat
I made this, I have forgotten
The rigging weak and canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking
This form, this face, this life
LIving to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
I think you have to read the story to really understand the reason that poem was in there, but the main character's name was Marina, and her brother, who she loved too much, committed suicide. They had a doll called Rose-in-May, who they used as a mail (Mayl) box. Before he died, he left that poem in the doll for her.