The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock A Poem by T.S. Eliot www.poetryfoundation.org A pair of ragged clawsDo I dare disturb the universe?That is not it at allI have heard the mermaids singing lonelinessmelancholy
The Waste Land A Poem by T.S. Eliot www.poetryfoundation.org HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIMEA handful of dustWho walks beside you?Has it begun to sprout?Fragments solitudesociety
Human kind cannot bear very much reality A Fragment by T.S. Eliot www.coldbacon.com Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. realitytime
Barn Burning A Short Story from The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami The first in agesFive barns worth burningI keep getting older
The first in ages “Can I ask you one more question?” “Sure.” “Have you already decided on the next barn to burn?” This caused him to furrow up wrinkles between his eyes; then he inhaled audibly through his nose. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I have.” I sipped the last of my beer and said nothing. “A great barn. The first barn really worth burning in ages. Fact is, I went and checked it out only today.” “Which means, it must be nearby.” “Very near,” he confirmed. So ended our barn talk. i
Five barns worth burning I walked around with a map, penciling in X’s wherever there was a barn or shed. For the next three days, I covered four kilometers in all four directions. Living toward the outskirts of town, there are still a good many farmers in the vicinity. So it came to a considerable number of barns—sixteen altogether. I carefully checked the condition of each of these, and from the sixteen I eliminated all those where there were houses in the immediate proximity or greenhouses alongside. I also eliminated those in which there were farm implements or chemicals or signs that they were still in active use. I didn’t imagine he’d want to burn tools or fertilizer. That left five barns. Five barns worth burning. barnsworthburning.net i
I keep getting older Every morning, I still run past those five barns. Not one of them has yet burned down. Nor do I hear of any barn fires. Come December, the birds strafe overhead. And I keep getting older. Although just now and then, in the depths of the night, I’ll think about barns burning to the ground. i