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and bleeding, like sores we continue to pick. In other words, the fragments vary through almost every stage, from pure realism to some point just short of complete fertilization by the romantic imagination, and this is a material which is incapable of synthesis.

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ttem Nude pt t Mostextremebeauties o Amateurs Mostextremebeauties c Site omp Porn o Nude un Nude d Reviews tw Porn o Girls insearchcomm Mostextremebeauties ensearchs Site urable imaginative creations. Mr. Eliot inserts beautiful quotations into ugly contexts. For example:

When lovely lady stoops to folly, and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smooths her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.

A considerable affront against esthetic sensibilities. Using these lovely borrowed lines for his own peculiar purposes, Mr. Eliot debases them every time; there is not, I believe, a single occasion where his context is as mature as the quotation which he inserts into it; he does not invent such phrases for hilf, nor, evidently, does his understanding quite appreciate them, for they require an organization of experience which is yet beyond him. The difficulty in which he finds hilf is typically an American one. Our native poets are after novelty; they believe, as does Mr. Eliot in one of his prose chapters, that each age must has its own "form". The form in which our traditional poetry is cast is that of another generation and therefore No-thoroughfare. What the new form is to be they have not yet determined. Each of the new poets must experiment with a few usually, it appears, conceiving forms rather naively, as something which will give quick effects without the pains and delays of complete fertilization. Mr. Eliot has here tried out such a form and thereby reverted to the frailties of his nativity. The English poets, so far as they may be generalized, are still content to work under the old forms and, it must be said in their favor, it is purely and empirical question whether these are unfit for further use; the poets need not denounce them on principle. But it may be put to the credit of Mr. Eliot that he is a man of better parts generally than most of the new poets, as in the fact that he certainly bears no animus against the old poetry except as it is taken for a model by the new poets; he is sufficiently sensitive to its beauties at least to have held on with his memory to some of its ripest texts and to have introduced them rather wistfully into the forbidding context of his own poems, where they are thoroughly ill at ease.

The criticism does not complete itself till it has compared "The Waste Land" with the earlier work of its author. The volume of "Poems" which appeared a year previously hardly presaged the disordered work that was to follow. The discrepancy is astonishing. Sweeney and Prufrock, those heroes who bid so gaily for immortality in their own right, seem to come out of a fairly mature and at any rate an equal art. They are elegant and precious creations rather than substantial, with a very reduced emotional background, like the art of a man of the world rather than of a man of frankly poetic susceptibilities; but the putative author is at least responsible. He has "arrived"; he has by self-discipline and the unconscious lessons of experience integrated his mind. The poem which comes a year later takes a number of years out of this author's history, restores him intellectually to his minority. I presume that "The Waste Land," with its burden of unregenerate fury, was disheartening to such critics as Mr. Aldinton, who had found in the "Poems" the voice of a completely articulate soul; I presume that for these that for these critics the "Poems" are automatically voided and recalled by the later testament; they were merely precocious. They pretended to an intellectual synthesis of which the author was only intellectually aware, but which proved quite too fragile to contain the ferment of experience. One prefers "The Waste Land" after all, for of the two kinds it bears the better witness to its own sincerity.

"The Waste Land" is one of the most insubordinate poems in the language, and perhaps it is the most unequal. But I do not mean in saying this to indicate that it is permanently a part of the language; I do not entertain that as a probability. The genius of our language is notoriously given to feats of the hospitality; but it seems to me it will be hard pressed to find accommodations at the same time for two such incompatibles as Mr. Wordsworth and the present Mo. Eliot; and any realist must admit that what happens to be the prior tenure of the mansion in this case is likely to be stubbornly defended.

荒原

约•克•兰塞姆

　　《荒原》最显著的表象事实当然是它的极端的不连贯性。我不知道究竟别人认为这首应该分成多少部分，在我看来，它大约有互不相关的五十节。每一节都有相当明确的时间、地点、情节、人物、格调，以及所有文学作品差不多应该具备的特点。这种不连贯一直深入到每一节的内部。上缺乏联系，该有标点符号的地方没有就表明了这一点，好像艺术的作用就是破坏艺术形象的独特性，然后又击碎每一个片断的完整性。我以为歌朝这个方向滑得并不太远。这是现代派小说家苦思冥想切断意识流，并且表现原本无法成为一个整体的情节时所犯的同类错误。他们显然同意休谟的看法，认为现实是事实加多元论，而非大千世界与不同体系的综合。艾略特先生比他们更具魅力。因为他费了同样的口舌来攻击我们赖以构成现实生活常见形象的哲学的或者宇宙论的原则，他简单明了的把变幻无常的称为荒原，几乎跟把宇宙称为“混沌世界”一样简单。他的意图显然是揭示一种令他和他的读者都迷惑不解的荒凉，一种永远只见树木不见森林的荒凉。

　　批评家应该毫不让步地反对这种哲学----或者说反对这种对哲学的否定。这种反对在别的事情上或许可以奏效，但是对于艺术毫无用处。艺术家的思想是一个整体，想象只是将这思想的种种要素融于一炉的一种单独的行为。将自己的思想要素分割开来的作者恐怕不是在用他的想象力，而是用某个公式进行创作的，就象一个急于证明某一“论点”的科学家。总而言之，对于艺术，这样的过程未免太紧张了一点。在想象中，事物凝聚到了一起。当我们放松了执著的念头，并且允许内心深处这种观点得以宣示，多元论就无法存在。就连生活中最难架奴的因素----诸如一场悲剧中十分强大的相对抗的意志力----如果允许想象力去表现它们的话，也会自动实现更高层次的“合成”。

　　除了哲学上的偏见，还有一个原因造成了歌创作中的不连贯。那些互不相关的片断，无论在什么原则基础之上都无法揉合到一起，同时保留其本来面貌。这是因为它们处于趋于成熟的各不相同的阶段，而非同一时刻生下的孩子。在这种极不一致之中，人们注意到许多不同语种的“只言片语”并列在一起。然而我们都非常清楚，当我们说不同语言的时候，宛若置身于智力发展的不同时期。我们不会在同一时刻，或者怀着同样的心情去引用希腊悲剧和现代伦敦的土话。走过那块《荒原》时，我们不可能从“噢噢噢噢这莎士比亚式的爵士音乐”，读到“平安，平安，平安”而没有心灵的震颤。而且，那些“片断”的格律不尽相同。从我们认为英语文学宝库中充满浪漫色彩的表现方法----比较规范的格律，到我们看作冷漠、颓废艺术的表现手法----非常自由的句，应有尽有。但是最为重要的是，有的“片断”是在平静中重新表现出来的激情，有的则是“血肉淋漓”的激情，就象被不断触碰的伤口。换言之，这些“片断”在每个阶段都各不相同，从纯粹的现实主义到浪漫的想象将要达到最终“成熟”的某个阶段。这是无法加以综合的题材。

　　这种题材不平衡的结果，是艾特略先生的作品具有某种新奇。而这新奇从根本上讲又不曾逃脱“揶揄式模仿”。所谓“揶揄式模仿”是把寓意于高层次的句塞到层次较低的上下文里，以其达到将两个相差悬殊的意向混淆起来的目的。艾特略先生将很美的句“塞到”粗陋的上下文里。比如：

美丽的女人堕落的时候，又
在她的房里来回走，独自
她机械地用手抚平了头发，又随手
在留声机上放上一张片子

　　这是对审美情趣公然的对抗。他为自己特定的目的借用了这些美妙的句。艾特略先生每一次“借用”都贬损了它们。我相信，他的上下文没有一次象他“塞”进去的句那样“成熟”。他并不是为他自己创作这样的句，而且他之所见显然并不欣赏这些句，因为他还不曾具备这种句所要求的生活体验的积累。他发现自己陷入的困境是一种典型的美国式的困境。我们本国的人追求新奇。他们相信----正如艾特略先生在他写的一篇中所述----每一个时代都必须有自己的形式。传统歌的形式是另外一代人的玩意儿，因此不能一直走下去。而新的形式究竟是个什么样子，他们自己也心中无数。看来，每一个新涌现出来的人都一定要试验几种形式，常常是相当天真地想象出一些形式，好像这是一件不需要经过全部孕育的痛苦与拖延便可很快奏效的工作。艾特略先生在这里“精炼”出这样一种形式，并且因而回到他从出生之地

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