Волны

           AndIcannottranslateittoyousothatitsbindingpowerropesyouin,andmakesitcleartoyouthatyouareaimless;andtherhythmischeapandworthless;andsoremovethatdegradationwhich,ifyouareunawareofyouraimlessness,pervadesyou,makingyousenile,evenwhileyouareyoung.Totranslatethatpoemsothatitiseasilyreadistobemyendeavour.I,thecompanionofPlato,ofVirgil,willknockatthegrainedoakdoor.Iopposetowhatispassingthisramrodofbeatensteel.IwillnotsubmittothisaimlesspassingofbillycockhatsandHomburghatsandalltheplumedandvariegatedhead-dressesofwomen.(Susan,whomIrespect,wouldwearaplainstrawhatonasummer’sday.)Andthegrindingandthesteamthatrunsinunequaldropsdownthewindowpane;andthestoppingandthestartingwithajerkofmotor-omnibuses;andthehesitationsatcounters;andthewordsthattraildrearilywithouthumanmeaning;Iwillreduceyoutoorder.

           ’Myrootsgodownthroughveinsofleadandsilver,throughdamp,marshyplacesthatexhaleodours,toaknotmadeofoakrootsboundtogetherinthecentre.Sealedandblind,withearthstoppingmyears,Ihaveyetheardrumoursofwars;andthenightingale;havefeltthehurryingofmanytroopsofmenflockinghitherandthitherinquestofcivilizationlikeflocksofbirdsmigratingseekingthesummer;IhaveseenwomencarryingredpitcherstothebanksoftheNile.