The Fire Sermon
By Thomas Stearns Eliot
The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest —
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
"Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smooths her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
"Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."
"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised 'a new start'.
I made no comment. What should I resent?"
"On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing."
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
Poem Analysis:
T.S. Eliot’s The Fire Sermon is the third section of his seminal modernist poem, The Waste Land (1922). This segment of the poem integrates themes of spiritual decay, sexual corruption, and disillusionment with modern civilization. The title references a sermon by the Buddha in which he speaks of the burning passions that lead to suffering. Eliot juxtaposes this Buddhist idea with Western traditions, particularly drawing from Christian, classical, and modern imagery to critique the moral and cultural degradation of his time.
Themes and Symbolism
1. Decay and Emptiness
Eliot presents the Thames River as a symbol of lost purity, contrasting its current desolation with its mythical past. The river, once associated with poetic romance and beauty, is now barren, its nymphs departed, leaving behind a wasteland devoid of meaning:
“The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, / Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends”
These discarded objects evoke the emptiness of contemporary urban life, where once-sacred spaces are now sites of consumerist detritus. The phrase "nymphs are departed" alludes to the loss of romanticism and vitality, highlighting the modern world’s spiritual void.
2. Sexual Corruption and Meaningless Encounters
The section critiques the mechanical and impersonal nature of modern sexuality through the depiction of a typist and a "young man carbuncular":
“Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; / Exploring hands encounter no defence; / His vanity requires no response, / And makes a welcome of indifference.”
The act is not one of passion or love but of obligation and indifference, a stark contrast to the idealized, romanticized notions of love in traditional literature. Tiresias, the blind seer from Greek mythology, serves as the witness to this encounter, bridging past and present experiences of moral decline.
3. Buddhist and Christian Imagery
The title itself alludes to The Fire Sermon of the Buddha, in which he urges followers to renounce worldly desires to attain enlightenment. The repetition of "burning" in the final stanza reflects both Buddhist renunciation and Christian purgation, reinforcing the idea that modern civilization is consumed by lust, greed, and spiritual emptiness:
“Burning burning burning burning / O Lord Thou pluckest me out.”
This final plea suggests a longing for salvation or an escape from the moral decay that permeates the modern world.
Modernist Techniques and Allusions
- Intertextuality and Fragmentation: Eliot’s use of multiple literary references is a hallmark of modernism. The Fire Sermon interweaves elements from Shakespeare (The Tempest), the Bible, Greek mythology, and contemporary settings. This blending of sources mirrors the fragmentation of modern existence, creating a disjointed yet deeply interconnected meditation on cultural decline.
- Polyphony and Shifting Voices: The poem employs multiple speakers, from Tiresias to an anonymous narrator, creating a layered effect that reflects the chaos of modernity. This technique immerses readers in the disorienting experience of urban life, where meaning is elusive and identity fluid.
- Refrains and Musicality: Eliot uses repetition and musicality to emphasize despair and monotony. Phrases like “Sweet Thames, run softly” and “Weialala leia / Wallala leialala” introduce a lyrical yet haunting quality, underscoring the tension between nostalgia and reality.
The Fire Sermon stands as a powerful critique of 20th-century moral and spiritual decay. By drawing from diverse traditions and employing modernist techniques, Eliot presents a world where passion has turned to apathy, faith has crumbled, and humanity is left adrift in a meaningless wasteland. Yet, in its closing lines, the poem hints at the possibility of renewal—whether through Eastern detachment or Western salvation—leaving the reader with an unresolved but compelling vision of civilization’s fate.