the waste land

Self-portrait, 2012 , 12″X9″, Spit bite etching & Chine Cole

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.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,   
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965).

2 thoughts on “the waste land

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