Rhapsody on a Windy Night

T.S. Elliot's Rhapsody on a Windy Night, which is the poem that Memory was based on.

Twelve o'clock. Along the reaches of the street. Held a lunar synthesis, whispering lunar incantations. Dissolve thefloors of memory, and all it's clear relations, it's divisions and precisions. Every street lamp I pass, beats like a fatalistic drum, and through the spaces of the dark midnight shakes the memory. Like a madman shakes a dead geranium. Half-past one, the street lamp sputtered, the street lamp muttered, the streetlamp said, "Regard the woman who hesitates towards you in the light of the door, which opens on her like a grin. You see the border of her dress is torn and stained with sand, and you see the corner of her eye twists like aa crooked pin." The memory throws up high and dry a crowd of twisted things; a twisted branch upon the beach eaten smooth and polished, as if the world gaveup the secret of it's skeleton, stiff and white. A broken spring in a factory yard, rust that clings to the form that the strenght has left, hard and curled and ready to snap. Half-past two, the street lamp said, "Remark the cat which fattens itself in the gutter, slips out it's tongue and devours a morsel of rancid butter." so the hand of a child,automatic,slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay. I could see nothing behind that child's eye. I have seen eyes in the street, trying to peer through lighted shutter, and a crab one afternoon in a pool, an old crab with barnacles on his back, Half-past three, the lamp sputtered, the lamp muttered in the dark. The lamp hummed:"Regard the moon, La lune ne garde aucune rancune, she winks a feeble eye, she smiles into corners. She smoothes the hair of the grass. The moon has lost her memory. A washed out smallpox cracks her face, her hand twists a paper rose, that smells of dust and old Cologne, she is alone with all the old nocturnal smells that cross and cross across her brain." the reminscence comes of sunless dry geraniums and dust in crevices, smells of chestnuts in the streets, and female smells in shuttered rooms, and cigarettes in corridors and cocktail smells in bars." the lamp said,"Four o'clock, here is the number on the door. Memory! You have the key, the little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,Mount. The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall, put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life." The last twist of the knife.

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