♕ |[62]| Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn

[had_not_lived]

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

Ever since I read that I can't help thinking of it in April. I don't think I agree. Maybe April's cruel here-- any month can be, in the City-- but I don't think it's because the world's waking up. I like that about spring; it feels like everything's been bare and cold forever, I like when that comes to an end. It's not that winter isn't beautiful... It can be. The snow and ice, keeping everything covered and pristine... It's sort of sad, though. Maybe just for me. For us.

The poem's much longer, that's just the first little part of it. It's nice... It's strange, and sad I think, but I like it.

Maybe April will take a turn for the better.

Comments

[inmyothertights]

April needs to sharpen up, in that poem.

[had_not_lived]

I think that's the poet's problem-- April causes too much of a fuss.

[inmyothertights]

Have I mentioned lately that I almost failed the poetry part of English?

[had_not_lived]

Why?

[inmyothertights]

Not everyone is as devoted to rhyming as you are.

[nosferotofu.livejournal.com]

I don't know if I'd call it sad.

[had_not_lived]

No?

[signatures]

What's the rest of it?

[had_not_lived]

It's really long; it's called The Waste Land.

[signatures]

Would the library have it, then?

[had_not_lived]

I'm sure it would. The author's T.S. Eliot.

Are you a poetry fan?

[signatures]

Not so narrowly, no. I suppose I'm a bit of a words fan, as it were.

[mumbled_truth]

I like it, too... winter ending. [Obviously.]

I think you're required to like April, though.

[had_not_lived]

I am not.

[mumbled_truth]

Really?

I thought there was something happening that had to do with you this month...

[had_not_lived]

So? That doesn't mean I have to like it.

[mumbled_truth]

I guess not. I mean, I still don't think much of November.

[ private ]

Um. There's... uh-- talking to you...

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

I think your poet has it just the opposite, really. I'm rather of the opinion that seeing the flowers come up through the ice and snow is a lovely thing, not a cruel one.

[had_not_lived]

That's how I feel about it, too-- I don't think I like being covered in forgetful snow much at all.

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

I doubt anyone would. How much further does the poem go on?

[had_not_lived]

It's very long-- it's in five parts-- but it jumps around, it's not all about spring.

[misterblackbird.livejournal.com]

There is something a little desperate about the first parts of spring, though, don't you think?

[had_not_lived]

Does desperate have to mean cruel?

[ooc; It has a DEEP PERSONAL MEANING for Neil, ok. :3]

[misterblackbird.livejournal.com]

I suppose they're not necessarily linked, but they certainly seem to come side by side often enough. Cruelty often as not leads to desperation, so far as I've seen.

[had_not_lived]

I find it's a relief, really. When all the snow melts, the trees start to go green, the flowers come up here and there. Even when it's cold or raining, there's a promise of change.