The Waste Land Blog » poetry

T. S. Eliot Reads The Waste Land

Wasted — Sun, 16 May 2010 13:25:05 +0000

If you read the About section of this blog you will know that Eliot is my favourite poet and reading his poetry has been one of those life-changing experiences of mine!

I have these tapes of Eliot reading his own poems which I bought from Amazon a few years back. Finally, fighting all my procrastinating habits I have started to convert them to digital format. So I though I would share them here. This is the first instalment where he reads the entire ‘The Waste Land’.

I. The Burial of the Dead
I. The Burial of the Dead

II. A Game of Chess
II. A Game of Chess

III. The Fire Sermon
III. The Fire Sermon

IV. Death by Water
IV. Death by Water

V. What the Thunder said
V. What the Thunder said

Divan-e Ghalib

Wasted — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 15:35:37 +0000

Thought I will share a wonderful, recent discovery of mine – a painstakingly created index of Mirza Ghalib‘s ghazals, with commentaries collected from various sources, presented in Urdu, Devanagari, Diacritics and plain Roman, providing background information, anecdotes etc. wherever appropriate.

This labour of love is the work of Dr. Frances W. Pritchett, Professor of Modern Indic Languages in Columbia University, New York.

Amongst the various anecdotes from his life found on the website was this,

[When the British retook Delhi after the Rebellion of 1857, he was taken before a British officer who asked him if he was a Muslim.] Mirza said, ‘Half’. The Colonel said, ‘What does that mean?’ Mirza said, ‘I drink wine; I don’t eat pork’. Having heard this, the Colonel began to laugh.

And thought I would point out this ghazal. And this one. There’s many more. Start digging!

Society, I hope you’re not lonely without me…

Wasted — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 05:08:50 +0000

A hauntingly beautiful song, gives me goosebumps every time I hear it.

The song was written by Jerry Hannan and is performed by Eddie Vedder for the soundtrack of the film Into The Wild. The Sean Penn directed movie itself was wildly beautiful and what made it touching was that it was based on the real life story of a certain Christopher McCandless.

“Christopher Johnson McCandless (February 12, 1968 – August 18, 1992) was an American wanderer who hiked into the Alaskan wilderness with little food and equipment, hoping to live a period of solitude. Almost four months later he died of starvation near Denali National Park and Preserve.”

Oh its a mystery to me.

We have a greed, with which we have agreed…

And you think you have to want more than you need…

Until you have it all, you won’t be free.

Society, you’re a crazy breed.

I hope you’re not lonely, without me.

When you want more than you have, you think you need…

And when you think more, then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.

I think I need to find a bigger place…

Cause when you have more than you think, you need more space.

Society, you’re a crazy breed.

I hope you’re not lonely, without me.

Society, crazy indeed…

I hope you’re not lonely, without me.

There’s those thinkin’ more or less, less is more,

But if less is more, how you keepin’ score?

It means for every point you make, your level drops.

Kinda like you’re startin’ from the top…

And you can’t do that.

Society, you’re a crazy breed.

I hope you’re not lonely, without me.

Society, crazy indeed…

I hope you’re not lonely, without me

Society, have mercy on me.

I hope you’re not angry, if I disagree.

Society, crazy indeed.

I hope you’re not lonely…

Without me.

Pink Floyd’s Echoes

Wasted — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 04:43:53 +0000

I rediscovered this wonderful song today. It has been such a long time since I heard this one. I think it is one of the most under-rated Pink Floyd tracks ever.

Echoes (Waters, Wright, Mason, Gilmour)

Overhead the albatross

Hangs motionless upon the air

And deep beneath the rolling waves

In labyrinths of coral caves

An echo of a distant time

Comes willowing across the sand

And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land

And no one knows the where’s or why’s.

Something stirs and something tries

Starts to climb toward the light.

Strangers passing in the street

By chance two separate glances meet

And I am you and what I see is me.

And do I take you by the hand

And lead you through the land

And help me understand

The best I can.

And no one called us to the land

And no one crosses there alive.

No one speaks and no one tries

No one flies around the sun…

Almost everyday you fall

Upon my waking eyes,

Inviting and inciting me

To rise.

And through the window in the wall

Come streaming in on sunlight wings

A million bright ambassadors of morning.

And no one sings me lullabyes

And no one makes me close my eyes

So I throw the windows wide

And call to you across the sky…

Random Bob Dylan – II

Wasted — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 03:47:29 +0000

Love Sick

Random Bob Dylan…

Wasted — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 03:26:34 +0000

“Yes, I received your letter yesterday

(About the time the door knob broke)

When you asked how I was doing

Was that some kind of joke?”

Desolation Row

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi…

Wasted — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 02:20:08 +0000

Thousands of desires such…

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
Bahut nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle

Nikalna khuld se Aadam ka sunte aye hai lekin
Bahut beaabroo ho kar tere kuche se ham nikle

Mohabbat mein nahin hai farq jeene aur marne ka
Usi ko dekh kar jeete hain jis kaafir pe dam nikle

Khuda ke vaaste pardaah na kaabe se uthaa zaalim
Kaheen aisa na ho yaan bhi wahi kaafir sanam nikle

Kahaan maikhane ka darwaaza Ghalib aur kahaan waiz
Par itna jante hain kal woh jaata tha ke ham nikle

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle

Thousands of desires such that each one is worth dying for

Many a desire have I fulfilled, yet I yearn for more

Often have we heard about Adam’s banishment from Eden but

Humiliating much more was my leaving your doorstep

There is no difference in living and dying in love

The same infidel sustains our life, for whom we pine to die

For God’s sake do not lift the veil off the Kaaba, my oppressor

Lest the same infidel idol reveal herself there too

How far apart lies the door to the tavern from the preacher’s door

But I know this that yesterday he entered as I was leaving

Thousands of desires such that each one is worth dying for

Many a desire have I fulfilled, yet I yearn for more

- Mirza Ghalib

(Thanks to http://members.tripod.com/~Hoda/ghalib.htm for a lead to the translation.)

Where can one go?

Wasted — Mon, 20 Mar 2006 02:20:04 +0000

Something I have written after a long time. Though I am not in the least convinced about its worth, I will post it here for the heck of it!

Where can one go?

There is no haven of peace,

In this disquieting country,

Whose future is unsettled froth.

Foaming at the mouth,

On unknown shores, with

Sand under the feet,

Shifting, slipping.

There is no sanity sanatorium,

In this insane city,

Whose roads are screaming madness,

Winding through myriad desires,

Bursting cleavages,

Winking at passers-by,

Falling, Fallen.

There is no dance floor,

In this unnerving home,

Whose hearth is dying embers,

Drifting from arm to arm,

A chaotic dance,

Which leads to Deliverance,

Gripping, grasping.

There is no state of mind,

In this rejuvenated body,

Whose eclipse is blinding darkness,

Flirting with Death,

The sire of tomorrows,

The pallbearer of yesterdays,

Dying, dead.

Dead near ones

Wasted — Sat, 04 Jun 2005 02:20:02 +0000

Something I wrote a long time back… It was published in the online Poetry Magazine.

Dead near ones

Far is just a memory

Of a dead near one,

Who left property,

Disputed by daughters,

Clad in shame

And cursing their mothers,

Whose wombs are furnaces

Where steel is being moulded

Into men of particular hues and shapes,

That dance perfectly and around, in circles

With displacement towards Nietzschian perfection,

In the minds of daughters and wives,

Of dead near ones, safe in the sanity

Of their dying out in the midst

Of life, bubbly and spirited,

And gushing forth from breasts,

Filled with milk of kindness

That feel for steel,

In a way that dead near ones

Do not understand as they are

Unhealthy and drunk

On borrowed whisky

And roaming around in their kitchens,

With knives to cut the vegetable into pieces

That no one would want to eat

Or even taste with their tongues,

That never waiver or hesitate

But talk in a pure sense

Politics, War, Hunger, Peace,

That eludes so many

Dead near ones.