Ash Wednesday

By T. S. Eliot

I

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope
I no longer strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

II

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiation
On my legs, my heart, my liver and that which had been
contained in the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? Shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts, the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping

With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each
other,
Under a tree in the cool of day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

III

At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitful face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man’s mouth drivelling, beyond
repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the fig’s fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broad-backed figure dressed in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind
over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.

Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy

but speak the word only.

IV

Who walked between the violet and the violet
Whe walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary’s colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolor
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary’s colour,
Sovegna vos

Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing

White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.

The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

V

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny
the voice

Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season,
time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.

O my people.

VI

Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dream-crossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth

This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken by the wind.

And after this our exile

Welcome, poetry explorers, to a journey into one of T. S. Eliot’s most profound and moving works, “Ash Wednesday.” This poem, first published in 1930, marks a significant turning point in Eliot’s literary career and personal life. It is a deeply spiritual poem, reflecting his conversion to Anglicanism in 1927, and stands as a powerful meditation on faith, repentance, and the search for divine grace. Let us delve into its rich layers and discover the wisdom it holds.

Understanding “Ash Wednesday”

“Ash Wednesday” is a six-part poem that serves as a spiritual autobiography, charting a soul’s arduous journey from despair and renunciation to a fragile, yet persistent, hope for redemption. The title itself points to the Christian holy day that marks the beginning of Lent, a period of fasting, prayer, and penitence. The poem captures the speaker’s struggle to embrace faith, acknowledging past failures and the difficulty of turning away from worldly desires. It is a prayer of confession, a plea for forgiveness, and a profound exploration of spiritual renewal.

A Journey of Faith and Repentance: The Poem’s Core Message

The central idea of “Ash Wednesday” revolves around the speaker’s spiritual transformation. It portrays the challenging process of abandoning secular hopes and embracing a path of religious devotion. The poem explores the tension between human will and divine grace, the pain of repentance, and the quiet joy found in surrender. It is a testament to the human need for forgiveness and the enduring quest for meaning beyond the material world. Eliot masterfully weaves together themes of memory, forgetfulness, suffering, and the possibility of redemption, making “Ash Wednesday” a timeless reflection on the human condition.

Unpacking the Themes of “Ash Wednesday”

Eliot’s “Ash Wednesday” is rich with thematic complexity. By examining its core ideas, we can appreciate the depth of its spiritual message.

The Struggle for Spiritual Renewal and Renunciation

Part I immediately establishes a tone of weariness and renunciation. The speaker begins with the repeated line, “Because I do not hope to turn again.” This is not a statement of despair, but rather a recognition that the old ways, the old hopes, are no longer viable. The speaker has renounced worldly ambitions and desires, as seen in lines like:

Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope
I no longer strive towards such things

This renunciation is a necessary first step towards spiritual renewal. The “aged eagle” metaphor further emphasizes this sense of diminished worldly power, asking, “Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?” The speaker acknowledges the limitations of human will and the futility of past endeavors, paving the way for a new kind of hope rooted in faith.

Memory, Forgetfulness, and Redemption

Part II introduces the symbolic “Lady” and the imagery of dry bones, echoing the biblical vision of Ezekiel. The three white leopards consuming the speaker’s body represent the stripping away of earthly attachments. The bones, though dry, “shine with brightness” because of the Lady’s goodness and her devotion to the Virgin. This suggests that even in decay, there is a potential for spiritual radiance through intercession and grace. The bones sing a paradoxical song to the “Lady of silences,” a figure who embodies both memory and forgetfulness, wholeness and brokenness:

Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving

This section explores the idea that true redemption might involve forgetting the self and past transgressions, allowing a new, divinely-inspired self to emerge. The desert setting, “with the blessing of sand,” symbolizes a place of purification and spiritual solitude where old identities are shed.

The Ascent of the Soul: The Stair Imagery

Part III uses the powerful metaphor of climbing a winding stair, a journey fraught with temptation and spiritual obstacles. Each “turning of the stair” represents a stage in the soul’s ascent. At the “first turning of the second stair,” the speaker encounters “the devil of the stairs who wears / The deceitful face of hope and of despair.” This highlights the constant struggle against internal doubts and temptations that can masquerade as either false hope or paralyzing despair. As the ascent continues, the worldly distractions begin to fade:

Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind
over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.

The repeated plea, “Lord, I am not worthy / but speak the word only,” is a direct allusion to the centurion’s prayer in the Gospels, signifying humility and a profound reliance on divine power rather than personal merit. This section vividly portrays the arduous but necessary process of spiritual purification.

The Blessed Virgin and Divine Grace

Part IV introduces the figure of the “veiled sister” or “Lady,” often interpreted as a representation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or a spiritual guide. She is associated with “Mary’s colour,” white and blue, and brings coolness and freshness to the dry landscape:

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary’s colour,

This figure embodies grace and intercession, offering a path to “Redeem / The time. Redeem / The unread vision in the higher dream.” The poem suggests that through devotion and the intercession of such a figure, time itself can be redeemed, and spiritual visions can be realized. The presence of the “silent sister” offers solace and a quiet promise of renewal amidst the world’s chaos.

The Lost Word and the Search for Meaning

Part V grapples with the profound theme of the “lost word,” which can be understood as the divine Word, the Logos, or the ability to articulate spiritual truth. The speaker laments the difficulty of finding this Word in a world filled with noise and distraction:

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence

The repeated lament, “O my people, what have I done unto thee,” is a direct quotation from the Improperia, or Reproaches, from the Good Friday liturgy, expressing a deep sense of collective human failing and spiritual alienation. The “veiled sister” is again invoked, her prayers sought for those “who walk in darkness” and “cannot surrender.” This section underscores the spiritual barrenness of the modern world and the desperate need for divine intervention and guidance.

Hope Amidst Despair: The Tension of Faith

Part VI returns to the opening lines, “Although I do not hope to turn again,” but with a crucial shift from “Because” to “Although.” This change signifies a subtle but powerful movement from resignation to a more nuanced acceptance and a glimmer of hope. The speaker acknowledges the ongoing tension “between dying and birth,” the constant struggle of faith in a world of “profit and the loss.” Yet, amidst this wavering, there is a quickening of the spirit:

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel

This suggests that even in the face of loss and spiritual weakness, there is a resurgence of life and a desire to recover past beauty and meaning. The poem concludes with a sense of enduring exile but also a quiet prayer for continued spiritual awakening, symbolized by the yew tree shaken by the wind, carrying whispers of grace. The journey is not over, but hope, however fragile, remains.

Literary and Poetic Devices in “Ash Wednesday”

Eliot’s masterful use of literary and poetic devices is central to the power and complexity of “Ash Wednesday.”

Symbolism

• The Aged Eagle: In Part I, “Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?” symbolizes the speaker’s former worldly ambitions and the recognition of their diminished power and futility in the face of spiritual seeking.
• Three White Leopards: In Part II, these creatures consuming the speaker’s body represent the stripping away of earthly desires and the purification of the self, leaving only the spiritual essence (the bones).
• The Juniper-Tree: A biblical symbol of refuge and contemplation, under which the Lady and the bones rest, signifying a place of spiritual solace and transformation.
• The Bones: Symbolize the purified, essential self, stripped of worldly attachments, yet capable of spiritual song and brightness through grace.
• The Stairs: In Part III, the “second stair” and “third stair” symbolize the arduous spiritual ascent, each turning representing a stage of purification and overcoming temptation.
• The Rose: In Part II, “The single Rose / Is now the Garden,” is a multifaceted symbol. It can represent divine love, the Virgin Mary, or the ultimate spiritual fulfillment where all earthly loves find their end and meaning.
• The Garden and the Desert: These contrasting images appear throughout, representing places of spiritual fertility and barrenness, temptation and purification. The “desert in the garden the garden in the desert” (Part V) suggests that spiritual struggle and grace can coexist in any place.
• The Veiled Sister: In Parts IV and V, this figure, often associated with the Virgin Mary, symbolizes divine intercession, grace, and spiritual guidance. Her “white and blue” attire reinforces this connection.
• The Yew-Tree: A traditional symbol of death and immortality, appearing in Parts IV and VI, it suggests a connection to the spiritual realm and the whispers of eternity.
• The Word: In Part V, “the lost word,” “the unspoken word,” “the Word unheard,” refers to the divine Logos, the ultimate truth, and the difficulty of apprehending or articulating it in a fallen world.

Allusion

Eliot masterfully integrates allusions, enriching the poem with layers of meaning:

• Biblical Allusions:
  • Part II’s “Shall these bones live?” directly quotes Ezekiel 37:3, referencing the prophet’s vision of the valley of dry bones, symbolizing spiritual resurrection.
  • The repeated “O my people, what have I done unto thee” in Part V is from the Improperia (Reproaches) of the Good Friday liturgy, expressing Christ’s lament over humanity’s ingratitude.
  • The prayer “Lord, I am not worthy / but speak the word only” in Part III is from Matthew 8:8, spoken by the centurion to Jesus, signifying humility and faith.
• Dante Alighieri: The imagery of the winding stair in Part III strongly echoes Dante’s ascent of Mount Purgatory in the Purgatorio, a journey of purification. The phrase “Sovegna vos” in Part IV is a Provençal phrase from Dante’s Purgatorio (Canto XXVI), meaning “Remember me,” a plea for remembrance and prayer.
• Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary: The epithets for the “Lady of silences” in Part II (“Rose of memory / Rose of forgetfulness,” “Exhausted and life-giving”) echo the invocations found in Marian litanies.

Repetition and Anaphora

The poem frequently uses repetition, particularly anaphora (repetition at the beginning of clauses), to create a prayer-like rhythm and emphasize key ideas:

• “Because I do not hope to turn again” (Part I) and “Although I do not hope to turn again” (Part VI) frame the poem, marking a shift in the speaker’s spiritual state.
• The repeated “Redeem the time. Redeem / The unread vision in the higher dream” (Part IV) serves as a powerful call to spiritual action and renewal.
• The reiteration of “Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death” (Part I) directly invokes the Hail Mary prayer, reinforcing the penitential tone.

Imagery

Eliot employs vivid sensory imagery to create the poem’s atmosphere and convey its spiritual landscape:

• Visual Imagery: “three white leopards,” “white gown,” “whiteness of bones,” “dark” stair, “blue and green” attire, “violet and the violet,” “white light folded,” “jewelled unicorns,” “gilded hearse,” “blue rocks.” These colors and images contribute to the poem’s spiritual and often ethereal quality.
• Auditory Imagery: The “chirping” of the bones, the “music of the flute,” the “cry of quail and the whirling plover,” and the “thousand whispers from the yew” evoke sounds that are both earthly and otherworldly, suggesting communication beyond ordinary speech.
• Tactile and Olfactory Imagery: “cool of the day,” “damp, jagged” stair, “fetid air,” “dry rock,” “salt savour of the sandy earth,” “lost sea smell.” These details ground the spiritual journey in a physical reality.

Paradox and Juxtaposition

Eliot frequently uses paradox to express the complex, often contradictory nature of spiritual experience:

• “Calm and distressed / Torn and most whole / Rose of memory / Rose of forgetfulness / Exhausted and life-giving” (Part II) describes the Lady, embodying the dualities inherent in spiritual suffering and grace.
• “love unsatisfied / The greater torment / Of love satisfied” (Part II) suggests that even fulfilled worldly love can lead to a deeper spiritual yearning or torment.
• “The desert in the garden the garden in the desert” (Part V) juxtaposes two contrasting landscapes, implying that spiritual barrenness can exist within beauty, and grace can be found in desolation.

Structure and Form

“Ash Wednesday” is divided into six distinct sections, or cantos, each contributing to the overall narrative of spiritual progression. While it does not adhere to a strict meter or rhyme scheme, it is not entirely free verse. Eliot employs a flexible, often prayer-like rhythm, with varying line lengths and occasional rhymes or assonance that emerge organically. This fluid structure allows for shifts in tone and focus, moving between narrative, meditation, and direct address, mirroring the speaker’s internal journey.

Tone and Mood

The prevailing tone of “Ash Wednesday” is one of profound contemplation, penitence, and humility. It is often somber and reflective, yet it is infused with a fragile but persistent hope. The mood shifts between moments of spiritual dryness and despair, and glimpses of divine grace and potential renewal. There is a sense of quiet reverence and an earnest seeking for spiritual truth.

Why “Ash Wednesday” Resonates Today

“Ash Wednesday” continues to resonate deeply with readers because it explores universal human experiences: the struggle with personal failings, the search for meaning, the yearning for forgiveness, and the difficult but rewarding path of spiritual growth. In a world often characterized by noise and distraction, Eliot’s poem offers a powerful invitation to introspection, silence, and the profound journey of the soul towards grace. It reminds us that even in moments of doubt and renunciation, there is always the possibility of turning towards a higher purpose.

T. S. Eliot’s “Ash Wednesday” is not merely a poem about religious conversion; it is a timeless exploration of the human spirit’s