The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot (1915)
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . 10 Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20 And seeing that it was a soft October night Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions And for a hundred visions and revisions Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40 [They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"] Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all; Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60 And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . . I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet–and here's no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, 90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say, "That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all." And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worthwhile, 100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all." 110 . . . . . No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old . . . I grow old . . . 120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown. |
A Closer Look at the PoemThe epigraph is written in Italian and is taken from Dante - The Divine Comedy. The text translantes as:
If I believed that my response was heard By anyone returning to the world, this flame would stand and never stir again, But since no man has ever come alive out of this gulf of Hell, if I hear true, I’ll answer, with no fear of infamy. The poem begins with an invitation to the reader, or possibly a companion/lover. By line 3, the reader's sense of ease in imagining a still evening is quickly erased when we are presented with the image of an anaesthetised patient, alluding to someone who has little or no control over their own actions. Prufrock then walks us through the deserted, undesirable streets and hospitalities, noting the banality in the seedy.
Prufrock compares labyrinthian streets to a confusing debate he is having, possibly internally. Though line 11 alludes to the fact that the question is one he has spoken to his companion about on route to their destination. Prufrock has not yet revealed where we will end up, but his anxieties about arriving are obvious.
The women, according to Prufrock, trivialise the arts. He may also see Michelangelo as a masculine figure to whom he cannot compare.
Alluding to, but never explicitly stating,the fact that the fog is acting as a feline creature that sneaks its way around the city. From the previous stanzas we note that Prufrock himself acts in more or less of the same way, lingering in all the corners of the city and placing himself outside of society. This effeminate version of Prufrock creeping amongst the outskirts of society emasculates him. The "sudden leap" of the fog/cat/Prufrock is followed by sleep, possibly post-coitel, had he happened to visit one of the brothels mentioned earlier.
The lyrical repetition used here shows Prufrock trying to convince us (but, most likely himself) that there will be time. Prufrock also states that one of the things he has time for is preparing a socially acceptable version of himself, yet though he does this, we learn later that those whom he associates with still judge him. A key technique of Eliots is rather explicit in this stanza, "a hundred visions and revisions" conjures up an image of Eliots fragmented style of writing, this poem in particular made up of lots of visions.
The tea and toast represent the mundane of everyday, the mundance social norms. The women, according to Prufrock, trivialise the arts. He may also see Michelangelo as a masculine figure to whom he cannot compare.
Referring back to his previous stanza, Prufrock is still adamant that there will be time. Prufrock spends his time wondering if he dare, he refers to nothing in particular and the repetition alludes to the fact he may spend a lot of time asking himself the question. Prufrock will not climb the stairs, he will turn back without committing, and whilst doing so will worry about balding and how his physique is judged by others. His attire represent his mind; sober and engulfing.
Prufrocks mundane version of the universe would easily be disturbed, but as before, Prufrock turns and descends the stairs, he "will reverse". Prufrock's reality of a measured out, predictable and mundane existence are perfectly portrayed in line 51.
The "voices dying with a dying fall" is most probably a reference to sexual climax, as referred to in French as "la petite mort" or the little death. This may place Prufrock in a brothel, the voices of men who visit the places are one and the same. Prufrock is even bored in a brothel. Prufrock here explains how it feels to be judged, he feels like a corned and unable to move. He asks how he can begin? But he never says what this is and seems resistant to any sort of change.
Prufrock referers to the woman's body parts, rather than the whole body. This was typical of the metaphysical poets of the renaissance period and an explicit example is Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress'; a topic Eliot has famously studied and written about. prufrock studies closely those seemingly unimportant parts of the womans body yet makes no reference to a relationship.
Prufrock walks through the narrow streets and focuses on the seemingly unimportant as he does with women. The narrow streets are claustrophobic as is the smoke.
Prufrock cannot see himself moving forward and wishes to be in silence going nowhere.
The afternoon, like the yellow fog, is anthropomorphised and takes on the characteristics of a domestic cat, its laid back casual style in stark contrast to that of Prufrocks.
Prufrock considers whether, after his rigid, mundane afternoon tea, he will be able to climax (either through masterbation or a brothel). The allusion to John the Baptists further enhances Prufrock's view of emasculation whilst int he company of women. Prufrock intelligently states that he doent have to be a prphet to know that death will come for him, and until then life is laughing at him. He is afraid of death, in as much as he is afraid of living. This reflection (as he contemplates death) again alludes to Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress' as he says "To have squeezed the universe into a ball", and this is how Marvell describes a sexual encounter, but he sets this aside a reference to Lazarus (whom Christ rose from the dead). Even if Prufrock could be awoken from his death (dead existence/etherized existence), he would still be misunderstood; "Thats is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all". This could also be seen as self-referential, Eliot mocking those who try to interpret his allusions.
Repetative of the previous stanza, both add to the image of a rigid, repetitive and mundance way of life, Prufrock is constantly considering the same questions.
Using the literary technique aporia, Prufrock struggles to convey his true emotions, again misunderstood. Whether he is referring to his life, or if it is eliot referring to the process of writing a poem is up for discussion. Shakespeare's play Hamlet portrays the life of a bereaved, young prince whom is seeking revenge but delays and ponders until eventually he can get his revenge, or climax. Prufrock delays and ponders, but he right, he is not Prince Hamlet, he will never climax or be the hero. He actually see's himself as the fool, whose traditional role in Shakespeare is to tell the truth without consequence or punishment. Prufrock aims for this life, he would be happy being such an insignificant character who takes no risks.
Prufrock envisages life as he gets older, and its depressing, he can only imagine what his trousers will be like, with no reference to family.
Prufrock considers these rivetting(!) aspects of old age and decides (finally!) that he will wear white trousers on the beach.
The mermaids represent the seduction and eventual downfall of men seeking uncomplicated sexual release. Of course, they wouldn't want to tempt him even if he wanted them to.
He knows the type of seductress men fall for and these men fall for it even knowing the danger of the sea (and of course, their eventual death!).
"We" refers back to either the reader or the objective and subjective divisions of Prufrocks conciousness, and "we" have almost succomb, we have been close enough to see. As Prufrock alluded to earlier, he is no prince Hamlet and the poem has no climatic end, only the promise of death.
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