T. S. Eliot

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
(my new favorite poem)

"I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas."
(pg 1196)

Who wouldn't you want to be a cat? They sit around all day, not daring to face rejection in any way. Oh, but poor old Mr. Prufrock. As the poem starts, Prufrock is speaking to himself in encouragement to muster the courage to speak to a lady. Or perhaps, he is anticipating the conversation. Either way, he wants no questioning, let's just go.

"Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit."
(pg 1195)

The scene is clearly unreal, "like a patient etherised upon a table." It is like a daydream that Prufrock is suffering as the women around continue in conversation of Michelangelo. I can picture them spitting back and forth words on David. It is the next stanza that first grabbed my attention. The extended metaphor of the cat begins and lazily continues to be brilliantly woven into Prufrock's inadequacies. If a cat could talk, it would definitely speak, "and indeed there will be time" as it rubs itself on a window or something. I have always jealously pictured cats saying things like this. I don't even like cats! As this cat is stroking him self comfortable, Eliot is sharing in Prufrock's inadequacy.

"There will be time to murder and create"

"And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions"
(pg 1195)

This displays Prufrocks torment in his quest, but also hints at Eliot's difficulties as a writer. At first I pictured the cat killing a mouse, but then I realized that Eliot speaks of murdering or creating a poem. The most sensible explanation of the lines is in Prufrock's murdering his pursuit. He puts it off, thinking of new ways to ask. The description of him as a balding man leads the reader to a further understanding of this poor man's inadequacy. Eliot portrays this character so pitifully.

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."
(pg 1195)

Same crap, different day. I'm dying for this guy to take a risk already. He feels so awkward he compares himself to an insect in study.

"When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall"
(pg 1195)

I picture Eliot feeling this same way with all the critics. When the poem approaches the end, I get excited for Prufrock, but then Eliot lets me down again. Poor old Mr. Prufrock couldn't cut it. I can not decide if he is dreaming in the end or just that miserable. The way that Eliot spins his abilities into this poem is fantastic. I love the character and how in depth the reader is with him. The hints at Eliot's own truths bring in the expressive feeling that is often sought after in a poem. This is an excellent read, but like Don Juan, it must be read aloud. I found rhyme where I first thought it was missing and a rhythm that really sucked me in. Perhaps, if I hadn't first read silently though, I might have missed that cat!

I really like this Eliot and some that is not listed in the book, but some of his stuff is waste. No offense to Ezra Pound, but I think he ruined some of Eliot. I could not get into The Wasteland at all. I didn't even feel like I was reading Eliot anymore.