April is the cruelest month

This is something I have heard over and over in the last week and a half. And I have thus far simply ignored it. I am not as such as poetry fan. However my favorite, or at least the poem I quote the most (mostly in my own head as a bit of a mantra) is Eliot's The Hollow Man.

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

So I guess it is appropriate that yet another T.S. Eliot poem with as dark a feeling should keep coming back now.

I have always like April. My mom hates March. It is the month of her birthday but also the month in which both her parents died. And tends to have awful weather in New England. The need for sunlight and spring gets strong but the actual sun stays away. I always vowed that I would not hate a month, it seemed so silly. Especially a month with my birthday in it! And many times Easter is in April. And I love Easter. And the weather starts to get better. And April vacation (when I was younger) and the end of the school year (when I was at Pitt). Lots of birthday. Matty's dad and sister in law, college friends and roomates, Dan, Tara. Though there have been some bad Aprils. My appendix burst on my birthday in 5th grade and that combined with a subsequent post-op infection left me hospitalized for an extended period of time. And my best friend in high school's mother died on Palm Sunday which may have been in April that year, but may have been March. There was the year I put off celebrating my birthday until after I passed my prelim in the first weeks of May, and then failing, completely ruining that birthday. But this year has really pushed my limits a bit. The weather has been awful. Either cold or rainy and cold. With little teasers of nice weather followed by even worse weather. My Scienteering Science Fair was yesterday so I have had to deal with these kids, who are tough to deal with int he best of times. I started the month with a stomach flu that left me home sick for several days. Then we took a trip to Annapolis to help my parents with their new boat which was lovely. Then in the second week I discovered a rat in my backyard and then the next morning I sprained my ankle looking for it which has left me in an ankle brace and hobbling as I am an awful patient and refuse to use crutches. Easter was good. I met my new cousin for the first time. He is adorable. And then shit just totally hit the fan. Philadelphia mourns the death of Harry Kalas. Everyone in Philly who matters to me personally mourns the death of Joey. My boss's close friend from college dies last week. The owner of a loved local bar dies early this week. The little brother of a coworker dies last weekend. My other coworker's (who lost his father last fall) grandfather has a heart attack and is in the ICU last night. Seriously. What. The. Fuck. Could people just calm the hell down and stop dying, or getting sick. Just for the rest of the month. I know it is silly. But I think if we could just postpone some of this shit for another week we would deal with all this better. K thnx.

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering	5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,	10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,	15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,	20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,	25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.	30
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;	35
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,	40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,	45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.	50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.	55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,	60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.	65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!	70
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!	75
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'