I’m finally understanding the first line of The Waste Land. I never used to think that April was cruel. It was a month of renovation, of a new life, of prolonged glimpses of sun.
But now I get it: April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire.
Sometimes, the renovation of life is an awful spectacle to watch. Especially when you feel you’re being fed on memories that cannot bring anything new. People and nature around you are preparing for something better to come, but all you can do is live off memories and you feel incapable of contributing to the emergence of life. And it does become cruel.
‘I wonder if a memory is something you have or something you lost’ – I’ve heard this line in a Woody Allen movie called Another Woman and I’ve been thinking about it. I prefer to think that a memory is something you lost. At least you know you can't get back the things you lose and you feel your only chance is to try to overcome the winter (the winter that kept you warm and was dark and made you forget – it covered earth in forgetful snow) and rejoice when April comes. But you do feel you’re trying to breed lilacs out of the dead, that the new life you’re trying to celebrate is more of a death than an actual life. It is indeed fucked up. I’m sure I’m not making sense. Like all of us, I grow old.
All this to say that I finally get the first line of The Waste Land.
But now I get it: April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire.
Sometimes, the renovation of life is an awful spectacle to watch. Especially when you feel you’re being fed on memories that cannot bring anything new. People and nature around you are preparing for something better to come, but all you can do is live off memories and you feel incapable of contributing to the emergence of life. And it does become cruel.
‘I wonder if a memory is something you have or something you lost’ – I’ve heard this line in a Woody Allen movie called Another Woman and I’ve been thinking about it. I prefer to think that a memory is something you lost. At least you know you can't get back the things you lose and you feel your only chance is to try to overcome the winter (the winter that kept you warm and was dark and made you forget – it covered earth in forgetful snow) and rejoice when April comes. But you do feel you’re trying to breed lilacs out of the dead, that the new life you’re trying to celebrate is more of a death than an actual life. It is indeed fucked up. I’m sure I’m not making sense. Like all of us, I grow old.
All this to say that I finally get the first line of The Waste Land.
No comments:
Post a Comment