Bzw. ۲ ۶ ۱ [»I Have Measured Out My Life With Coffee Spoons« for Flute (1996) by R. A. ol-Omoum]

 

[»Μακόντο«, Elias Kasselas (2022)]

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

[From: T. S. Eliot »Four Quartets: Little Gidding« (1942)]

[»Ορέστης«, Elias Kasselas (2022)]

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark.

The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,

The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters.

The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,

Distinguished civil servants, chairman of many committees,

Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark

[From: T. S. Eliot »Four Quartets: East Coker« (1940)]

[»I Have Measured Out My Life With Coffee Spoons«, R. A. ol-Omoum (2022)]

[»Οι Τιτάνες απορροφούνται από το Τώρα«, Elias Kasselas (2022)]

For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

[From: T. S. Eliot »Prufrock and Other Observations« (1917)]

[»Ο δράκος του Ερμή«, Elias Kasselas (2022)]

Words move, music moves

Only in time; but that which is only living

Can only die. Words, after speech, reach

Into the silence.

[From: T. S. Eliot »Four Quartets: Burnt Norton« (1935)]

[»Νεκροί της γης, σπορά των άστρων«, Elias Kasselas (2022)]

For most of us, there is only the unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time,

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the music

While the music lasts.

[From: T. S. Eliot »Four Quartets: The Dry Salvages« (1941)]

[»Hommage à T. S. Eliot I - IV«, Sofia Gubaidulina (1987)]

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,

Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind

Cannot bear very much reality.

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

[From: T. S. Eliot »Four Quartets: Burnt Norton« (1935)]