Superficial differences aside - Eliot was a young man in 1909, while Prufrock is balding and probably middle-aged - Eliot disdained poetry that focused on the poet himself. I liked the poem for its strong structure and vivid imagery. 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? 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. Insegno a Genova, in un liceo linguistico, quindi negli ultimi tre anni facciamo storia della letteratura. Also Eliot was appointed assistant editor of the Egoist in June 1917.
It could certainly be seen as another idea to the you-I schism. They certainly have no relation to poetry. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Alfred Prufrock is 131 lines long and is mostly loose rhyming, that is, there is no consistent rhyme scheme and no regular pattern to the rhythm. 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, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. Finally, he brings us back into the conversation. His social anxiety assumes more importance in the middle part of the poem. It is a variation on the dramatic monologue, a type of writing which was very popular from around 1757 to 1922. While Eliot appreciated the dignity of cats, this particular soot-blackened cat does not seem so dignified. He's getting on in years and is acutely aware of what he's become, measuring his life in coffee spoons, losing his hair, turning thin. Hope to see much more from your creative pen.
I gather you need funding to complete the poem. A really magnificent visual interpretation. Shall I part my hair behind? After a year in Paris, he returned to Harvard to pursue a doctorate in philosophy, but returned to Europe and settled in England in 1914. The Love Song of J. Some believe that Prufrock is talking to another person or directly to the reader, while others believe Prufrock's monologue is internal. Alfred Prufrock, a presumably middle-aged, intellectual, indecisive man, invites the reader along with him through the modern city. And how should I begin? He speaks of the universal uncertainty , felt but not admitted, by all of us human animals.
I would absolutely invest in your admirable talent if these were to be published! He is clearly a thinker, not a feeler, and his indecisive thoughts contribute directly to his paralysis, perhaps the most important theme in the poem. How do we know this? We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown. Hope this gets published soon for the world to see. The world is transitory, half-broken, unpopulated, and about to collapse. I can only dream of results like yours.
This debasement continues throughout the poem, both literally in the verticality of the images and figuratively in their emotional associations for Prufrock. You should really give this poem a couple more reads before you make such superficial comments. He describes yellow smoke and fog outside the house of the gathering, and keeps insisting that there will be time to do many things in the social world. Anyway, congratulations on your vivid, literate work. Do the visual thinkers in the class react differently to poetry? Prufrock reduces himself to an animal, lived-in and alone, sheltered at the bottom of the dark ocean. 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, I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. Heartiest congratulations and all the best.
Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair They will say: How his hair is growing thin! At the time of writing, class systems that had been in place for centuries were under pressure like never before. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003 , 99. Guido agrees to tell his shameful story to Dante because he believes that Dante will never escape hell to spread word of it. And how should I begin? He has fasted, prayed, wept, afraid for the future. I do not think that they will sing to me. Alfred Prufrock hidden inside all of us.
In the poem, Eliot creates the persona of his speaker, J. Eliot's poem caught the changes in consciousness perfectly. That is not it, at all. As the reader progresses into the poem, the mood soon fades and the reader starts to figure out that this evening is not what they pictured. Beh, ora mi spiego la presennza di tante poesie italiane! I would be thrilled to give some support to a kickstarter project if you go that way. Eliot parodies Laforgue but creates a realistic scene of intellectual gossip.