“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 dead tubers.”
For me these words are here every every April. I don’t often read T. S. Eliot’s poetry anymore. Certainly not as often as I once did. And that is unfortunate. I used to love reading The Waste Land from time to time, always in awe of the complexity and mystery of it.
I certainly don’t “understand” it. But I long ago abandoned that word when discussing poetry anyway. What we are talking about to my mind is the music of language.
So I thought, what better way to introduce “April Reads” than with one of the great works of poetry of the modern age. And for anyone wondering, yes, I did read the entire poem again. And it made me feel good.
And finally, for you believers in luck, I will of course say , Rabbit, Rabbit. Rabbit. A happy April to one and all.