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By T. S. Eliot

El mayor poema del siglo XX «La temible Tierra baldía de T. S. Eliot vuelve a vivir en l. a. versión de Andreu Jaume.»
Félix de Azúa, El País

Además de ser el gran poema del siglo XX, La tierra baldía es una obra esencial para entender nuestro tiempo. Con una dicción y unas imágenes rompedoras, T.S. Eliot sabe cantar los angeles devastación de los angeles primera guerra mundial, l. a. adecuación del hombre a los angeles ciudad como nuevo y definitivo exilio de los angeles naturaleza, el deseo difícil entre mujeres y hombres, y convocar a los angeles vez las voces del pasado literario de Occidente. Pero más allá del intimidante virtuosismo técnico y de l. a. intensidad estética que el poema desata, en estos versos emociona sobre todo l. a. desnuda humanidad que estalla en silencio.

Editado, prologado y traducido por Andreu Jaume, que también nos da su versión de Prufrock, el primer poemario de Eliot y referente imperative para entender el resto de su poesía, este libro viene a recordarnos, cuando se cumplen cincuenta años de su muerte, los angeles vigencia, los angeles ambición y el ejemplo de un poeta, un crítico y un editor que consiguió crear una nueva visión del mundo contemporáneo.

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Y me veo obligado a adoptar toda forma cambiante para hallar expresión… danzar, danzar, como un oso que baila, gritar como un loro, charlotear como un mono. Vayamos a tomar el aire, en trance de tabaco. �Bien! Y si ella muriera una tarde de estas, una tarde gris y brumosa, ocaso amarillo y rosa; muriera y me dejara sentado pluma en mano con l. a. niebla que desciende sobre los tejados, dudoso, por un rato, sin saber qué sentir o qué pensar, o si sabio o necio, tarde o temprano… �No llevaría ella l. a. ventaja, después de todo? Esta música triunfa con una �agónica caída» (ahora que hablamos de agonías). �Y tendría yo derecho a sonreír? PRELUDES I The iciness night settles down With odor of steaks in passageways. Six: o’clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty bathe wraps The dirty scraps Of withered leaves approximately your toes And newspapers from vacant plenty; The showers beat On damaged blinds and chimney-pots, And on the nook of the road A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. after which the lights of the lamps. II The morning involves awareness Of faint stale smells of beer From the sawdust-trampled highway With all its muddy ft that press To early coffee-stands. With the opposite masquerades that point resumes, One thinks of the entire arms which are elevating dingy colors In one thousand offered rooms. III You tossed a blanket from the mattress, You lay upon your again, and waited; You dozed, and watched the evening revealing The thousand sordid photos Of which your soul used to be constituted; They flickered opposed to the ceiling. And while all of the international got here again And the sunshine crept up among the shutters and also you heard the sparrows within the gutters, You had any such imaginative and prescient of the road because the road rarely is aware; Sitting alongside the bed’s facet, the place You curled the papers out of your hair, Or clasped the yellow soles of toes within the hands of either dirty arms. IV His soul stretched tight around the skies That fade in the back of a urban block, Or trampled by way of insistent ft At 4 and 5 and 6 o’clock; And brief sq. arms stuffing pipes, And night newspapers, and eyes guaranteed of definite certainties, The sense of right and wrong of a blackened highway Impatient to imagine the realm. i'm moved by means of fancies which are curled round those photographs, and adhere: The suggestion of a few infinitely light Infinitely ache factor. Wipe your hand throughout your mouth, and snigger; The worlds revolve like old girls accumulating gas in vacant plenty. PRELUDIOS I Cae l. a. tarde de invierno en callejones que huelen a cocina. Las seis en punto. Quemados restos de días con niebla. Y ya una ráfaga de lluvia enreda los mugrientos retales de hojarasca entre tus piernas y revuelan periódicos en descampados; las ráfagas golpean contra rotas persianas y chimeneas y en los angeles esquina de los angeles calle retumba el vaho de un coche de caballos. Y el súbito encendido de las lámparas. II Despierta los angeles mañana a los angeles conciencia de espectrales olores a cerveza rancia de l. a. calle con serrín hollada por enlodados pies que atraviesan hacia cafeterías de madrugada.

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