T.S. Eliot - "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Hello, I'm T.S. Eliot, and I have just been teleported from the afterlife to talk to you. First a little about my background. I was born the last of six children in my family. I was born in St. Louis, Missouri. My family also had a summer home in New England, where I lived most of my adolescence. My youth served to provide much of the imagery for my poetry.

I started my college education at Harvard University. There, I also wrote some of my earliest poetry. I completed my degree in only three years. Some of my observations concerning the social elite in Cambridge served as the background for my early poems. I wrote some of my first poems while at Harvard. After I completed my degree, I began working on my postgraduate degree. Irving Babbit was my most influential instructor during my post-graduate years. From his lectures, I developed an interest in Buddhism and Sanskrit. I then went to Paris to study literary criticism. In Paris, I especially appreciated Henri Bergson's lectures on the nature of time.

After a brief stint as a teaching assistant at Harvard, I opted to complete my Ph.D. at Oxford. I remained in Europe for most of the remainder of my life. At Oxford, I met Conrad Aiken, whom I had previously known at Harvard. He introduced me to Ezra Pound. Ezra helped me to publish my first book of poetry and helped me refine my poetry. While in England I also met Vivien Haigh-Wood, who would become my wife. Our marriage was rocky, and we soon separated.

One of my longest and most discussed poems, The Waste Land, was written while I was in England. It began it as a series of verse fragments. Ezra Pound helped me to edit it and mold into an acceptable born. My experience in Europe during the time of World War I provided influence for many of the images in the poem.

In addition to poetry, I also wrote a large amount of literary criticism. I have an immense appreciation for classical literature. One of my favorite classical writers was Dante. I have alluded to his characters in many of poems. I have also directly quoted him. "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" opens with an epigraph from Dante's Inferno.

I joined the Church of England in 1927. This would serve as a primary influence for my later poetry. "Ash Wednesday" and "The Journey of the Magi" both have great religious overtones stemming from my new-found church affiliation. "Four Quartets", also written during my church affiliation was considered by some to be my finest work.

Later in my career, I began to write theatrical works. My first play, Murder in the Cathedral was based on the murder of Thomas Becket. The Cocktail Party, first performed in 1949, was well received, and helped to bring about my career as a playwright. Furthermore, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats has become the basis for the Broadway musical, Cats.

I had received many honors in my career, but none of them compares to the Nobel Prize I received in 1948.

That is my life in brief. I could go into greater detail, but a fear it will create false impressions about my poetry. Often detailed knowledge of a poet will cause the reader to falsely connect events in his life to his poetry.

Let us go then, you and I,	[* Sibeling *]
when the evening is spread out against the sky	[2]
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats	[5]
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 a room the women come and go	[13]
Talking of Michelangelo

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window panes.	[15]
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]
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;	[25]
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 life 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 toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go	[35]
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 his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare	[45]
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 with a dying fall	[37]=
Beneath the music from a farther room.	[34]=
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all-	[55]
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned 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	[65]
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 the windows? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

	[* start MEMPHISTO *]

And the afternoon, the evening sleeps so peacefully!	[75]
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here besides 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 never seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker.	[85]
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 in a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -	[95]
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 worth while,	[100]
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts and 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:	[105]
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,	[pillow,shawl]
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."	[110]

. . . . . . . .
	[* MEMPHISTO *]
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was I 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,	[115]
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.	[125]

I have seen the riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown black
When the wind blows the water white 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.

[The music for the slide show was composed by Beethoven and Wilder, and performed by Bacher and Depeche Mode. The narration was by Hubble, and the slides depict Brazilian scenery.] For my slide presentation, I used Brazilian scenery. I wanted to depict a nonstandard interpretation of the poem. The true value of poetry lies in the reader's personal interpretation. For this reason I have never explained elements of my poetry. Today, however, I will provide you with my present interpretation of the poem. However, I caution you to remember that this is only my interpretation. It is all the better if you have a different interpretation.

Prufrock is one of my few named characters. Even with a name, he is still left in an ambiguous state. Prufrock is an aging man, contemplating whether he should "Dare Disturb the Universe?" by proposing his love to a woman. He suffers through a great amount of internal conflict before finally retreating back to his melancholy life, without confessing his love.

Social customs dictated that manners must take precedence over the expression of internal feelings. I noticed that it was almost impossible to express true inner feelings. However, the trivial day-to-day routine needed to be preserved. Prufrock was faced with this same conflict brought on by society. He was not willing to express his true feelings because he believed society saw him as an older man who could have no claim on a younger woman.

I wrote "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" using a non-uniform meter and rhyme. Also the various stanzas are not of uniform length. These elements helped to represent the stream-of-consciousness technique I used in the poem. Most of the other literary devices I used here were intended to be 'purposeful accidents', happening just as they would in somebody's thoughts. This also leads to ambiguity. For example, in line one, the you and I could be referring to Prufrock and himself, or Prufrock and his 'lover'.

Similes and metaphors are abundant in the poem. One of the first examples is line 3. This helps to set the tone of the poem, and also emphasizes Prufrock's lack of control of his own life. Also, in the third stanza, an indirect metaphor is used, comparing the yellow smoke to a cat.

Because we are viewing Prufrock's thoughts, a great amount of repetition should be expected. Lines 13 and 14 are repeated again at lines 35-36. Line 26 repeats "There will be time, there will be time". Time is one of the key problems which Prufrock is facing. Has time taken the irreversible toll upon his body? Doesn't he have all the time he wants to confess his love for 'her'? Thus the remainder of that stanza points out different uses of time. (closely paralleling a chapter in Ecclesiastes, which was later turned into a song by the Byrds.) In line 38, "Do I dare?" is repeated twice, interrupted by some tangent thoughts, and finally concluded with "Do I dare disturb the universe". In both of these places repetition is used to emphasize a key point which is later expounded upon.

In his doubting state, Prufrock compares himself to others. In line 94 he alludes to Lazarus. He uses this allusion to exaggerate his oldness. Lazarus was an aged man who was restored from death by Jesus. Prufrock considers his age to be a 'death' to his romantic zeal. Being raised from the dead would restore the romance to his life. However tells himself this is impossible.

The dramatic climax of this poem occurs in line 111. here, Prufrock alludes to Shakespeare's Prince Hamlet. He uses this allusion to show his inferiority, and his inability to declare his love. This is also the dramatic climax of his poem, where all the internal debating comes to an end. He finally gives in to his timid character and starts his journey into a 'dream world'.

In the last three lines, he paints a contrasting picture of a serene ocean setting. Like line one, line 129 includes a mysterious second person. Who is "we" referring to? It could be Prufrock and himself, him and the mermaids, or all humankind. In line 130 the seaweed is red and brown. This symbolizes the decaying of Prufrock's heart. His present dream-like state is destroying his heart. Only the return to reality can stop this destruction.

This poem grew out of my own private background. I was very reserved as a youth, and often contemplated 'disturbing the universe', but usually gave in to my shyness.

Let us go then, you and I,		[* Sibeling *]
When the evening is spread out against the sky	[10]=
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,		[269]=
The muttering retreats	[1c?]
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels	[10?]=
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument	[395] [30a]
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In a room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"	[277]=?
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair-	[35]=
(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 his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare	[197?]= 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,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices with a dying fall	[37]=
Beneath the music from a farther room.	[34]=
So how chould 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 wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
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	[305?]=
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt sleeves, leaning out the windows? . . .	[41a]=
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.	[253?]=

. . . . . .	[* start MEMPHISTO *]

And the afternoon, the evening sleeps so peacefully!	[17?]=
Smoothed by long fingers,	[fingers, sleep]
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here besides you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,	[!!!!!]
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,	[weep]
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter;	[1g]=
I have never seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker. And in short, I was afraid.	[footman]

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,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,	[smile]
To have squeezed the universe in a ball	[200?]=
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,	[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 worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts and trail along the floor -	[look!]
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	[nerves]
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,	[pillow,shawl]
And turning toward the window, should say:	[41a]
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."	[window]

	. . . . . . . . 2:18? 2:55
	[* MEMPHISTO *]
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was I meant to be;	[25]=
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;	[2g?]=
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -	[85]=
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .	[41a?]
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.	[rolled up]

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?	[hair, peach]

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.	[319]=
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.	[mermaid]

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen the riding seward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown black	[340]=
When the wind blows the water white black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea	[15]=
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

30a - street
42 ship ocean
30f - water dude, bridge, grass
21 - blurred water
20 - vine entanglement
85 - dude in tree
41 - ship
30e - rock island
17 - overlooking falls
36 - falls
277 - railroad dude on
424 - horse drawn carriage

Slightly modified biography:

Hello, during my span on earth, I was known as T.S. Eliot. I have just been teleported from the afterlife to tell you a little about myself. I was born the last of six children in the Eliot family. I was born in St. Louis, Missouri. My family also had a summer home in New England, where I lived most of my adolescence. My youth served to provide much of the imagery for my poetry.

I started my college education at Harvard University. There, I also wrote some of my earliest poetry. I completed my degree in only three years. Some of my observations concerning the social elite in Cambridge served as the background for my early poems. After I completed my degree, I began working on my postgraduate degree. Irving Babbit was my most influential instructor during my post-graduate years. From his lectures, I developed an interest in Buddhism and Sanskrit. I then went to Paris to study literary criticism. In Paris, I especially appreciated Henri Bergson's lectures on the nature of time.

One of my longest and most discussed poems, The Waste Land, was written while I was in England. It began it as a series of verse fragments. Ezra Pound helped me edit it and mold it into an acceptable form. My experience in Europe during the time of World War I provided influence for many of the images in the poem.

In addition to poetry, I also wrote a large amount of literary criticism. I have an immense appreciation for classical literature. One of my favorite classical writers was Dante. I have alluded to his characters in many of my poems. I have also directly quoted him. "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" opens with an epigraph from Dante's Inferno.

I joined the Church of England in 1927. This would serve as a primary influence for my later poetry. "Ash Wednesday" and "The Journey of the Magi" both have religious overtones stemming from my new-found church affiliation. Four Quartets, also written during my church affiliation, was considered by some to be my finest work.

Later in my career, I began to write theatrical works. My first play, Murder in the Cathedral, was based on the murder of Thomas Becket. The Cocktail Party, first performed in 1949, was well received, and helped to bring about my career as a playwright. Furthermore, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats has become the basis for the Broadway musical, Cats. (Alas, it didn't appear until after my span on earth had passed.)

Suffering from ailing health, my wife died in 1947. Ten years later, I married Valerie Fletcher. This marriage was much better than my previous one, and lasted for the remainder of my life. My life on earth ended in 1965, when my poor health finally took its toll.

That was my life in brief, except for one key event. In 1948 I received the Nobel Prize in literature.