
The Dry Land opens by mocking April as a month of empty noise, jesting bells and bladders full of sound signifying nothing. It declares that the Dry Land, the Waste Land and the Desert yield no wine, whiskey or malt liquor, yet moisture exists in spots, found among rocks. The piece drifts through naval and drinking imagery, toasting rum and wine, before a voice cries for the boat to turn back and pull for shore. A White Rock offers only water, nothing more, prompting mock musings on busts and pallid statues. Mrs. Porter and her daughter wash their feet in soda-water, knowing what to do with water. Other rocks turn out to be money, bullion and banknotes, which can buy sodas, sundaes, polonies and peppermint drops, yet the land remains dry until a Wet Spot is found that will buy anything, naming whiskies like Johnnie Walker, Haig and Haig, Black and White and Gordon Gin. Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shean exchange their catchphrases, and a Kentucky highland scene follows, with a Revenooer dozing near moonshine and a still, where there is no water except for washing, and little even for that. Spotted snakes, bats and humpy camels roll down Bowling Green. The scene shifts to Rat's Alley, where dead men roll their bones, rattling nightly on alley-stones through chance, a melancholy figure gambling with dice and bones, crying out gambling calls and pleas over coins. The speaker claims to know a Moor from a Blackamoor without ever seeing one, then recognizes someone on Catherine Street wearing a Dunlap hat, one of "the Five," his teeth claimed by pyorrhea. A column of marching men laments having no bananas, repeating the refrain before the speaker resolves to rush out and buy cocoanuts instead. The closing passage reaffirms April as the foolishest month, admits the piece was written tongue in cheek on the First of April, and predicts it will provoke serious, impressionistic and cubistic readers to find meaning in nonsense, ending in a cascade of Dadaist and multilingual nonsense phrases.
By Christopher Ward · Genre: Satirical Poetry, Parody, Modernist Poetry · 9 chapters · 1,608 words
/ April is the foolishest month, bringing / The First of April, bringing / Jest and youthful jollity, jingling / Bells of Merry Andrew, rattling / Dried peas in blown bladders / Full of sound and signifying / Nothing -- absolutely nothing.
satire · parody · The Waste Land · Prohibition · 1920s · jazz age · bootleggers · moonshine · gambling · craps · dada · absurdism
The Dry Land is listed on Textopian as a poem by Christopher Ward, dated Date unknown.
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