T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Poems. 1920.
3. Sweeney Erect
P
Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.
Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
And swell with haste the perjured sails.
(Nausicaa and Polypheme),
Gesture of orang-outang
Rises from the sheets in steam.
Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
The sickle motion from the thighs
Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
And clawing at the pillow slip.
Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
And wipes the suds around his face.
Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
Of Sweeney straddled in the sun).
Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
Curves backward, clutching at her sides.
Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
And deprecate the lack of taste
Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
It does the house no sort of good.
Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
And a glass of brandy neat.