Sunday, November 25, 2007

Yes. Another one of those things.

Photo from here

As a freshman in college I fell in love with T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. I read it over and over, aloud, savoring the words, the sounds, the rhythms, the images. The quiz results below made me think of "the violet hour."

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.


I owe this one to FranIAm. Her brain is purple too.

Your Brain is Purple

Of all the brain types, yours is the most idealistic.
You tend to think wild, amazing thoughts. Your dreams and fantasies are intense.
Your thoughts are creative, inventive, and without boundaries.

You tend to spend a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for yourself.

I have to say, this one is spot on, as my readers may well surmise. Intense dreams? Can we say cast of thousands, huge scene crews, and Technicolor? Move over, Mr. DeMille.



Flowers from here
--the BB

6 comments:

Kirstin said...

I could be at least three different colors. My favorite color is purple, but so far a blue brain is most accurate.

Mostly commenting because one rainy November evening, my second year of college (I went to Evergreen, in the wet dark north), I read the entire Four Quartets aloud to myself, because I loved the flow of the language.

I was hoarse for days.

Thanks for reminding me. That feels like forever ago, and it was such an open, innocent time.

Paul said...

This is so bizarre. At yesterday's retreat one of the people at my table for supper went to Evergreen, but tonight I'm not sure who it was. I don't think I'd ever heard of it until last night, and now you mention it.

Blue is my favorite color but I have not explored the sundry shades of brain in this quiz. Expect I'll hear more within 36 hours.

I adore the Four Quartets. I re-read them almost every year. So rich. They have influenced a lot of my poetry. See here.

Kirstin said...

[smiling] Coincidences, aren't.

Find out who and when, if you can. I finished in 1992, but I had entirely different names until 3 1/2 years ago. (Another story for another time.) If they had anything to do with the food co-op, or Traditions, or a few other places until 2005, I probably know them. (OFC is how I got my Ranch job; Sean's daughter Calen came through my line.)

Off to look at your poetry now.

Fran said...

Buddhapalian, what a gorgeous blog, what an amazing post and what an honor to have anything to do with it.

I am but the conduit my friend!

It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, fellow purple person and seeker.

You are being added to my blogroll poste haste!

And in the world of what is ordained and not a random coincidence, the Eliot poem spoke to me in ways I truly needed today.

Thank you.

johnieb said...

Brain color? Gray, the last time I looked.

But the lying quiz (No History section in a bookstore? No Theology? Well, usually not in a chain store, at least one worth visiting--huumph!) says it's green, though I say it should be violet.

Paul said...

franiam, thank you so much. We creative types need to stick together. The world needs rescuing from boredom. (That is totally untrue yet not false, but I get silly here. Often.)

Welcome!

johnieb--you are so right. I thought the bookstore question was rather hopeless. I do head to history sections (and contemporary politics); theology and spirituality; fiction, poetry, drama; sometimes art; but the choices in this were pathetic!