“一戰後的世界如同一巨大巨大的荒原”。人的肉體依然失去其原有的生命力，而人的靈魂則處於極度極度空虛麻木的狀態。面對精神與肉體的雙重危機，艾略特給出了自己獨特的救世方案：先“死”後“生”......
枯叟
你現在既不年輕也不老邁
但好像在一次晚餐後的睡眠中
你同時夢到了它們？
瞧，我是乾旱月份裡的一位老人
一邊聽男童讀書，一邊等待雨的降落
我未到過溫泉關
也不曾在暖融融的雨中掙扎
更不用說身陷鹽沼地，手握彎刀
被蚊蠅叮咬，苦苦作戰
我的房屋腐朽不堪
房東，一個猶太人在窗臺蹲坐下來
他在安特衛普的某個酒吧裡出生
在布魯塞爾起了水泡，又在倫敦長斑、脫落
夜間山羊在高原上咳嗽
岩石，苔蘚，景天，烙鐵，糞便
婦人在廚房裡忙碌，沏茶
晚上打會兒噴嚏，捅一捅堵塞的排水溝
我，一個老頭兒
風口中一顆呆滯的腦袋
奇蹟的預兆總會顯現。“我們將看到天兆！”
字裡隱含的字，不能說出來
被黑暗重重包裹著。新年伊始
基督老虎來了
在墮落的五月，山茱萸和栗子，開花的紫荊樹
它們會在竊竊私語裡
在充滿愛撫的雙手間
給人吃掉，給人剝開，給人喝下
那是希爾維羅先生
在裡摩日，隔壁房間裡
那個徹夜踱步的人
博川先生，躬身在提香的畫作間
德湯琪斯特夫人，在黑暗的房間裡
移動蠟燭；馮·庫爾普小姐
在大廳裡轉過身，一隻手搭在門上
空梭子徒勞地編織著風。我沒有靈魂
一個老頭兒在冷風陣陣的房間裡
後面又是多風的小丘
懂得了這些，能寬恕些什麼？現在想想
歷史存在很多機巧，造作和爭端
用不可告人的野心欺騙我們
又拿虛榮和浮華來加以引誘。現在想想
在我們注意力渙散時她才給予
而她所給的，又帶有如此巧妙的混亂
這所給之物讓人心充滿飢渴。給得太遲
就不再被信任，或仍然被信任
只是在記憶中，重溫激情。給得太快
柔弱的雙手無力承接，被認為是多此一舉
直到拒絕也傳達出某種恐懼。想想
恐懼和勇氣都不能將我們拯救。反常的惡習
是為我們的英雄氣概所創立。美德
因我們無恥的罪行，而強加於我們自身
眼淚從強忍憤怒的樹上搖落
老虎會在新的一年裡活躍起來。吞食我們
最後想想
我們還沒有得出公論，當我
在出租房屋裡僵坐。最後想想
我並不是漫無目的地表演
也不是受魔鬼驅使的任何挑動
我真誠無比地對你說
我靠近你心臟的那部分正遠你而去
在恐懼中失去美麗，在審判中忘卻恐懼
我已激情盡失：為什麼我要持有它
如果那被持有的終將變得不純？
同時喪失的還有色聲香味觸：
我如何動用它們，當你正靠得越來越近？
這些連同上千次微不足道的深思熟慮
擴大了他們那些冰冷妄語的好處
刺激那層薄膜，當感覺冷卻下來時
用辛辣的醬汁，繁多的花樣
映在鏡子的荒原裡。蜘蛛會做些什麼呢
暫緩行動，象鼻蟲
會耽擱嗎？德·拜爾哈切，佛萊斯卡，卡莫爾婦人
統統被旋轉出顫抖的大熊星座軌道之外
還原成一個個原子。在多風的貝爾島海峽
海鷗迎風翱翔，或飛向和恩角
海灣聲稱，白色羽毛飄落在雪上
一個老人順著信風
駛向一處寂靜的角落。
房子的租戶，
旱季裡乾枯腦袋的隨想。
英文原版
Gerontion
Thou hast nor youth nor age
But as it were an after dinner sleep
Dreaming of both?
Here I am,an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy,waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh,heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies,fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill,the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels,patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks,moss,stonecrop,iron,merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen,makes tea,
Sneezes at evening,poking the peevish gutter.
I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.
Signs are taken for wonders.”We would see a sign!”
The word within a word,unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness.In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
In depraved May,dogwood and chestnut,flowering judas,
To be eaten,to be divided,to be drunk
Among whispers;by Mr.Silvero
With caressing hands,at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;
By Hakagawa,bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles;Fraulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall,one hand on the door.Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind.I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy knob.
After such knowledge,what forgiveness?Think now
History has many cunning passages,contrived corridors
And issues,deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities.Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives,gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving.Gives too late
What’s not believed in,or if still believed,
In memory only,reconsidered passion.Gives too soon
Into weak hands,what’s thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear.Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us.Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism.Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes,
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.
The tiger springs in the new year.Us he devours.Think at last
We have not reached conclusion,when I
Stiffen in a rented house.Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils.
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror,terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion:why should I need to keep it
Since waht is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight,smell,hearing,taste and touch:
How should I use them for your closer contact?
These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane,when the sense has cooled
With pungent sauces,multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors.What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations,will the weevil
Delay?De Bailhache,Freaca,Mrs.Cammel,whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms.Gull against the wind,in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle,or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow,the Gulf claims,
And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.
Tenants of the house,
Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.
(1920)
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