TSEliot

TS ELIOT RE-DISCOVERED

I was going over a mound ( which is on top of another mound ) of books earmarked for some institutions in our hometown.

Many of these are donations from friends who just do not have any more space in their shelves. Many such volumes have already found their way to the ACES Library in Asingan. Before we pack these babies into those ubiquitous door-to-door boxes, we sort them, considering what titles should be useful for our intended reading audience which in this case are  Asingan readers.

A volume I kept for myself is a book of poetry by TS Eliot. I opened it randomly and then a piece entitled HIPPOPOTAMUS caught my eye. After reading it ( and skimming some others ) I started to like his style, very acidic in a funny way.

 

By the way, this is not a child's poetry. He compared the sluggish mammal to churches and church members during our modern times. But again, it is not also a religious poem.

I still go to a Catholic church, now just as an ordinary worshipper. During the sermon I could not help but smile when I remember this poem by TSEliot.

By the way, he wrote the poetry book entitled CATS which was made into a hugely successful musical by that well known artist-businessman Andrew Lloyd Webber.

 

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The Hippopotamus
T. S. Eliot

And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.

The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way--
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.