Difference between revisions of "Sandhyas"

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Sandhya: A Hindu ritual done at the "junctions" (sandhyas) of the day-dawn, noon, and sunset-during which the Savitri Gayatri is repeated.
 
Sandhya: A Hindu ritual done at the "junctions" (sandhyas) of the day-dawn, noon, and sunset-during which the Savitri Gayatri is repeated.
 +
 +
sanctus sanctus sanctus (mass)
 +
 +
shantih shantih shantih (last words of T.S. Eliot's "waste land")
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cf. last words of Joyce's parody of "waste land" in a letter to Harriot Shaw Weaver (Aug. 15, 1925):
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 +
Rouen is the rainiest place, getting
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Inside all impermeables, wetting
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Damp marrow in drenched bones.
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Midwinter soused us coming over Le Mans
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Our inn at Niort was the Grape of Burgundy
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But the winepress of the Lord thundered over that grape of Burgundy
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And we left it in a hurgundy.
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(Hurry up, Joyce, it's time!)
 +
 +
I heard mosquitoes swarm in old Bordeaux
 +
So many!
 +
I had not thought the earth contained so many
 +
(Hurry up, Joyce, it's time)
 +
 +
Mr Anthologos, the local gardener,
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Greycapped, with politness full of cunning
 +
Has made wine these fifty years
 +
And told me in his southern French
 +
Le petit vin is the surest drink to buy
 +
For if 'tis bad
 +
Vous ne l'avez pas payé
 +
(Hurry up, hurry up, now, now, now!)
 +
 +
But we shall have great times,
 +
When we return to Clinic, that waste land
 +
O Esculapios!
 +
(Shan't we? Shan't we? Shan't we?)

Revision as of 03:40, 17 July 2006

Sandhya: A Hindu ritual done at the "junctions" (sandhyas) of the day-dawn, noon, and sunset-during which the Savitri Gayatri is repeated.

sanctus sanctus sanctus (mass)

shantih shantih shantih (last words of T.S. Eliot's "waste land")

cf. last words of Joyce's parody of "waste land" in a letter to Harriot Shaw Weaver (Aug. 15, 1925):

Rouen is the rainiest place, getting Inside all impermeables, wetting Damp marrow in drenched bones. Midwinter soused us coming over Le Mans Our inn at Niort was the Grape of Burgundy

But the winepress of the Lord thundered over that grape of Burgundy And we left it in a hurgundy. (Hurry up, Joyce, it's time!)

I heard mosquitoes swarm in old Bordeaux So many! I had not thought the earth contained so many (Hurry up, Joyce, it's time)

Mr Anthologos, the local gardener, Greycapped, with politness full of cunning Has made wine these fifty years And told me in his southern French Le petit vin is the surest drink to buy For if 'tis bad Vous ne l'avez pas payé (Hurry up, hurry up, now, now, now!)

But we shall have great times, When we return to Clinic, that waste land O Esculapios! (Shan't we? Shan't we? Shan't we?)