Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good. (T.S. Eliot)


T.S. Eliot–                                                                                                THE FOUR QUARTETS                                                                           EAST COKER (exCERPT FROM Part IV)

The wounded surgeon plies the steel 
That questions the distempered part; 
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel 
The sharp compassion of the healer’s art 
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart. 

Our only health is the disease 
If we obey the dying nurse 
Whose constant care is not to please 
But to remind of our, and Adam’s curse, 
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse. 

The whole earth is our hospital 
Endowed by the ruined millionaire, 
Wherein, if we do well, we shall 
Die of the absolute paternal care 
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere. 

The chill ascends from feet to knees, 
The fever sings in mental wires. 
If to be warmed, then I must freeze 
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires 
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars. 

The dripping blood our only drink, 
The bloody flesh our only food: 
In spite of which we like to think 
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood 
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

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