{"id":403258,"date":"2024-08-28T20:07:10","date_gmt":"2024-08-28T12:07:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/jiaotong\/403258.html"},"modified":"2024-08-31T23:52:50","modified_gmt":"2024-08-31T15:52:50","slug":"%e5%bc%97%e5%90%89%e5%b0%bc%e4%ba%9a%e8%89%be%e7%95%a5%e7%89%b9%e5%8e%9f%e6%96%87%ef%bc%9f","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/jiaotong\/403258.html","title":{"rendered":"\u5f17\u5409\u5c3c\u4e9a\u827e\u7565\u7279\u539f\u6587\uff1f"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\u5f17\u5409\u5c3c\u4e9a\u827e\u7565\u7279\u539f\u6587\uff1f\"<\/figure>\n

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEADApril is the cruellest month, breedingLilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter <\/p>\n

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD<\/p>\n

April is the cruellest month, breeding<\/p>\n

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing<\/p>\n

Memory and desire, stirring<\/p>\n

Dull roots with spring rain.<\/p>\n

Winter kept us warm, covering<\/p>\n

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding<\/p>\n

A little life with dried tubers.<\/p>\n

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee<\/p>\n

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,<\/p>\n

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10<\/p>\n

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.<\/p>\n

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.<\/p>\n

And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,<\/p>\n

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,<\/p>\n

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,<\/p>\n

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.<\/p>\n

In the mountains, there you feel free.<\/p>\n

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.<\/p>\n

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow<\/p>\n

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20<\/p>\n

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only<\/p>\n

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,<\/p>\n

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,<\/p>\n

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only<\/p>\n

There is shadow under this red rock,<\/p>\n

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),<\/p>\n

And I will show you something different from either<\/p>\n

Your shadow at morning striding behind you<\/p>\n

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;<\/p>\n

I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30<\/p>\n

Frisch weht der Wind<\/p>\n

Der Heimat zu<\/p>\n

Mein Irisch Kind,<\/p>\n

Wo weilest du?<\/p>\n

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;<\/p>\n

“They called me the hyacinth girl.”<\/p>\n

– Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,<\/p>\n

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not<\/p>\n

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither<\/p>\n

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40<\/p>\n

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.<\/p>\n

Od’ und leer das Meer.<\/p>\n

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,<\/p>\n

Had a bad cold, nevertheless<\/p>\n

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,<\/p>\n

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,<\/p>\n

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,<\/p>\n

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)<\/p>\n

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,<\/p>\n

The lady of situations. 50<\/p>\n

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,<\/p>\n

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,<\/p>\n

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,<\/p>\n

Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find<\/p>\n

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.<\/p>\n

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.<\/p>\n

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,<\/p>\n

Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:<\/p>\n

One must be so careful these days.<\/p>\n

Unreal City, 60<\/p>\n

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,<\/p>\n

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,<\/p>\n

I had not thought death had undone so many.<\/p>\n

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,<\/p>\n

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.<\/p>\n

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,<\/p>\n

To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours<\/p>\n

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.<\/p>\n

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson!<\/p>\n

“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70<\/p>\n

“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,<\/p>\n

“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?<\/p>\n

“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?<\/p>\n

“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,<\/p>\n

“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!<\/p>\n

“You! hypocrite lecteur! – mon semblable, – mon frere!”<\/p>\n

II. A GAME OF CHESS<\/p>\n

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,<\/p>\n

Glowed on the marble, where the glass<\/p>\n

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines<\/p>\n

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80<\/p>\n

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)<\/p>\n

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra<\/p>\n

Reflecting light upon the table as<\/p>\n

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,<\/p>\n

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;<\/p>\n

In vials of ivory and coloured glass<\/p>\n

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,<\/p>\n

Unguent, powdered, or liquid – troubled, confused<\/p>\n

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air<\/p>\n

That freshened from the window, these ascended 90<\/p>\n

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,<\/p>\n

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,<\/p>\n

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.<\/p>\n

Huge sea-wood fed with copper<\/p>\n

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,<\/p>\n

In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.<\/p>\n

Above the antique mantel was displayed<\/p>\n

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene<\/p>\n

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king<\/p>\n

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100<\/p>\n

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice<\/p>\n

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,<\/p>\n

“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.<\/p>\n

And other withered stumps of time<\/p>\n

Were told upon the walls; staring forms<\/p>\n

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.<\/p>\n

Footsteps shuffled on the stair.<\/p>\n

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair<\/p>\n

Spread out in fiery points<\/p>\n

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110<\/p>\n

“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.<\/p>\n

“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.<\/p>\n

“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?<\/p>\n

“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”<\/p>\n

I think we are in rats’ alley<\/p>\n

Where the dead men lost their bones.<\/p>\n

“What is that noise?”<\/p>\n

The wind under the door.<\/p>\n

“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”<\/p>\n

Nothing again nothing. 120<\/p>\n

“Do<\/p>\n

“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember<\/p>\n

“Nothing?”<\/p>\n

I remember<\/p>\n

Those are pearls that were his eyes.<\/p>\n

“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”<\/p>\n

But<\/p>\n

O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag –<\/p>\n

It’s so elegant<\/p>\n

So intelligent 130<\/p>\n

“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”<\/p>\n

I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street<\/p>\n

“With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?<\/p>\n

“What shall we ever do?”<\/p>\n

The hot water at ten.<\/p>\n

And if it rains, a closed car at four.<\/p>\n

And we shall play a game of chess,<\/p>\n

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.<\/p>\n

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said –<\/p>\n

I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, 140<\/p>\n

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/p>\n

Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.<\/p>\n

He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you<\/p>\n

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.<\/p>\n

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,<\/p>\n

He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.<\/p>\n

And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,<\/p>\n

He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,<\/p>\n

And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.<\/p>\n

Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. 150<\/p>\n

Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.<\/p>\n

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/p>\n

If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.<\/p>\n

Others can pick and choose if you can’t.<\/p>\n

But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.<\/p>\n

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.<\/p>\n

(And her only thirty-one.)<\/p>\n

I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,<\/p>\n

It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.<\/p>\n

(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160<\/p>\n

The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.<\/p>\n

You are a proper fool, I said.<\/p>\n

Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,<\/p>\n

What you get married for if you don’t want children?<\/p>\n

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/p>\n

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,<\/p>\n

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot –<\/p>\n

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/p>\n

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME<\/p>\n

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170<\/p>\n

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.<\/p>\n

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.<\/p>\n

III. THE FIRE SERMON<\/p>\n

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf<\/p>\n

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind<\/p>\n

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.<\/p>\n

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.<\/p>\n

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,<\/p>\n

Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends<\/p>\n

Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.<\/p>\n

And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180<\/p>\n

Departed, have left no addresses.<\/p>\n

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .<\/p>\n

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,<\/p>\n

Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.<\/p>\n

But at my back in a cold blast I hear<\/p>\n

The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.<\/p>\n

A rat crept softly through the vegetation<\/p>\n

Dragging its slimy belly on the bank<\/p>\n

While I was fishing in the dull canal<\/p>\n

On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190<\/p>\n

Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck<\/p>\n

And on the king my father’s death before him.<\/p>\n

White bodies naked on the low damp ground<\/p>\n

And bones cast in a little low dry garret,<\/p>\n

Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.<\/p>\n

But at my back from time to time I hear<\/p>\n

The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring<\/p>\n

Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.<\/p>\n

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter<\/p>\n

And on her daughter 200<\/p>\n

They wash their feet in soda water<\/p>\n

Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!<\/p>\n

Twit twit twit<\/p>\n

Jug jug jug jug jug jug<\/p>\n

So rudely forc’d.<\/p>\n

Tereu<\/p>\n

Unreal City<\/p>\n

Under the brown fog of a winter noon<\/p>\n

Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant<\/p>\n

Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210<\/p>\n

C.i.f. London: documents at sight,<\/p>\n

Asked me in demotic French<\/p>\n

To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel<\/p>\n

Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.<\/p>\n

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back<\/p>\n

Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits<\/p>\n

Like a taxi throbbing waiting,<\/p>\n

I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,<\/p>\n

Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see<\/p>\n

At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220<\/p>\n

Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,<\/p>\n

The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights<\/p>\n

Her stove, and lays out food in tins.<\/p>\n

Out of the window perilously spread<\/p>\n

Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,<\/p>\n

On the divan are piled (at night her bed)<\/p>\n

Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.<\/p>\n

I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs<\/p>\n

Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest –<\/p>\n

I too awaited the expected guest. 230<\/p>\n

He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,<\/p>\n

A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,<\/p>\n

One of the low on whom assurance sits<\/p>\n

As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.<\/p>\n

The time is now propitious, as he guesses,<\/p>\n

The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,<\/p>\n

Endeavours to engage her in caresses<\/p>\n

Which still are unreproved, if undesired.<\/p>\n

Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;<\/p>\n

Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240<\/p>\n

His vanity requires no response,<\/p>\n

And makes a welcome of indifference.<\/p>\n

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all<\/p>\n

Enacted on this same divan or bed;<\/p>\n

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall<\/p>\n

And walked among the lowest of the dead.)<\/p>\n

Bestows one final patronising kiss,<\/p>\n

And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .<\/p>\n

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,<\/p>\n

Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250<\/p>\n

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:<\/p>\n

“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”<\/p>\n

When lovely woman stoops to folly and<\/p>\n

Paces about her room again, alone,<\/p>\n

She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,<\/p>\n

And puts a record on the gramophone.<\/p>\n

“This music crept by me upon the waters”<\/p>\n

And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.<\/p>\n

O City city, I can sometimes hear<\/p>\n

Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260<\/p>\n

The pleasant whining of a mandoline<\/p>\n

And a clatter and a chatter from within<\/p>\n

Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls<\/p>\n

Of Magnus Martyr hold<\/p>\n

Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.<\/p>\n

The river sweats<\/p>\n

Oil and tar<\/p>\n

The barges drift<\/p>\n

With the turning tide<\/p>\n

Red sails 270<\/p>\n

Wide<\/p>\n

To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.<\/p>\n

The barges wash<\/p>\n

Drifting logs<\/p>\n

Down Greenwich reach<\/p>\n

Past the Isle of Dogs.<\/p>\n

Weialala leia<\/p>\n

Wallala leialala<\/p>\n

Elizabeth and Leicester<\/p>\n

Beating oars 280<\/p>\n

The stern was formed<\/p>\n

A gilded shell<\/p>\n

Red and gold<\/p>\n

The brisk swell<\/p>\n

Rippled both shores<\/p>\n

Southwest wind<\/p>\n

Carried down stream<\/p>\n

The peal of bells<\/p>\n

White towers<\/p>\n

Weialala leia 290<\/p>\n

Wallala leialala<\/p>\n

“Trams and dusty trees.<\/p>\n

Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew<\/p>\n

Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees<\/p>\n

Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.”<\/p>\n

“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart<\/p>\n

Under my feet. After the event<\/p>\n

He wept. He promised ‘a new start’.<\/p>\n

I made no comment. What should I resent?”<\/p>\n

“On Margate Sands. 300<\/p>\n

I can connect<\/p>\n

Nothing with nothing.<\/p>\n

The broken fingernails of dirty hands.<\/p>\n

My people humble people who expect<\/p>\n

Nothing.”<\/p>\n

la la<\/p>\n

To Carthage then I came<\/p>\n

Burning burning burning burning<\/p>\n

O Lord Thou pluckest me out<\/p>\n

O Lord Thou pluckest 310<\/p>\n

burning<\/p>\n

IV. DEATH BY WATER<\/p>\n

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,<\/p>\n

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell<\/p>\n

And the profit and loss.<\/p>\n

A current under sea<\/p>\n

Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell<\/p>\n

He passed the stages of his age and youth<\/p>\n

Entering the whirlpool.<\/p>\n

Gentile or Jew<\/p>\n

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320<\/p>\n

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.<\/p>\n

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID<\/p>\n

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces<\/p>\n

After the frosty silence in the gardens<\/p>\n

After the agony in stony places<\/p>\n

The shouting and the crying<\/p>\n

Prison and palace and reverberation<\/p>\n

Of thunder of spring over distant mountains<\/p>\n

He who was living is now dead<\/p>\n

We who were living are now dying<\/p>\n

With a little patience 330<\/p>\n

Here is no water but only rock<\/p>\n

Rock and no water and the sandy road<\/p>\n

The road winding above among the mountains<\/p>\n

Which are mountains of rock without water<\/p>\n

If there were water we should stop and drink<\/p>\n

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think<\/p>\n

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand<\/p>\n

If there were only water amongst the rock<\/p>\n

Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit<\/p>\n

Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340<\/p>\n

There is not even silence in the mountains<\/p>\n

But dry sterile thunder without rain<\/p>\n

There is not even solitude in the mountains<\/p>\n

But red sullen faces sneer and snarl<\/p>\n

From doors of mudcracked houses<\/p>\n

If there were water<\/p>\n

And no rock<\/p>\n

If there were rock<\/p>\n

And also water<\/p>\n

And water 350<\/p>\n

A spring<\/p>\n

A pool among the rock<\/p>\n

If there were the sound of water only<\/p>\n

Not the cicada<\/p>\n

And dry grass singing<\/p>\n

But sound of water over a rock<\/p>\n

Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees<\/p>\n

Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop<\/p>\n

But there is no water<\/p>\n

Who is the third who walks always beside you? 360<\/p>\n

When I count, there are only you and I together<\/p>\n

But when I look ahead up the white road<\/p>\n

There is always another one walking beside you<\/p>\n

Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded<\/p>\n

I do not know whether a man or a woman<\/p>\n

– But who is that on the other side of you?<\/p>\n

What is that sound high in the air<\/p>\n

Murmur of maternal lamentation<\/p>\n

Who are those hooded hordes swarming<\/p>\n

Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth 370<\/p>\n

Ringed by the flat horizon only<\/p>\n

What is the city over the mountains<\/p>\n

Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air<\/p>\n

Falling towers<\/p>\n

Jerusalem Athens Alexandria<\/p>\n

Vienna London<\/p>\n

Unreal<\/p>\n

A woman drew her long black hair out tight<\/p>\n

And fiddled whisper music on those strings<\/p>\n

And bats with baby faces in the violet light 380<\/p>\n

Whistled, and beat their wings<\/p>\n

And crawled head downward down a blackened wall<\/p>\n

And upside down in air were towers<\/p>\n

Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours<\/p>\n

And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.<\/p>\n

In this decayed hole among the mountains<\/p>\n

In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing<\/p>\n

Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel<\/p>\n

There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.<\/p>\n

It has no windows, and the door swings, 390<\/p>\n

Dry bones can harm no one.<\/p>\n

Only a cock stood on the rooftree<\/p>\n

Co co rico co co rico<\/p>\n

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust<\/p>\n

Bringing rain<\/p>\n

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves<\/p>\n

Waited for rain, while the black clouds<\/p>\n

Gathered far distant, over Himavant.<\/p>\n

The jungle crouched, humped in silence.<\/p>\n

Then spoke the thunder 400<\/p>\n

DA<\/p>\n

Datta: what have we given?<\/p>\n

My friend, blood shaking my heart<\/p>\n

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender<\/p>\n

Which an age of prudence can never retract<\/p>\n

By this, and this only, we have existed<\/p>\n

Which is not to be found in our obituaries<\/p>\n

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider<\/p>\n

Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor<\/p>\n

In our empty rooms 410<\/p>\n

DA<\/p>\n

Dayadhvam: I have heard the key<\/p>\n

Turn in the door once and turn once only<\/p>\n

We think of the key, each in his prison<\/p>\n

Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison<\/p>\n

Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours<\/p>\n

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus<\/p>\n

DA<\/p>\n

Damyata: The boat responded<\/p>\n

Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar 420<\/p>\n

The sea was calm, your heart would have responded<\/p>\n

Gaily, when invited, beating obedient<\/p>\n

To controlling hands<\/p>\n

I sat upon the shore<\/p>\n

Fishing, with the arid plain behind me<\/p>\n

Shall I at least set my lands in order?<\/p>\n

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down<\/p>\n

Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina<\/p>\n

Quando fiam ceu chelidon – O swallow swallow<\/p>\n

Le Prince d’Aquitaine a la tour abolie 430<\/p>\n

These fragments I have shored against my ruins<\/p>\n

Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.<\/p>\n

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.<\/p>\n

Shantih shantih shantih<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEADApril is the cruellest month, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":416005,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-403258","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-jiaotong"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/403258","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=403258"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/403258\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":416007,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/403258\/revisions\/416007"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/416005"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=403258"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=403258"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.youtupa.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=403258"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}