Homeworks academic service


An overview of the love song of j alfred prufrock poem by t s eliot

The Love Song of J. 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.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot: Summary

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.

  1. In another sense Prufrock would be unable to go anywhere, however hard he tried.
  2. It sets these infinitives against present participles, which are constantly muttering, sprawling, rubbing, scuttling, and settling.
  3. Like Augustine, Eliot sees sex as the tyranny of one part of the body over the whole. He rarely thinks of himself and cannot enjoy even a peach.
  4. There is no way to distinguish between actual movement and imaginary movement. Each is impenetrable to the other.
  5. And how should I presume?

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; 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.

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 dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room.

Related Topics

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?

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!

  1. From Harmony of Dissonances. Prufrock's infirmity of will is not so much a moral deficiency as a consequence of his subjectivism.
  2. The image of decapitation parodies the theme of disconnected being and provides for at least a negative definition of the self. John Paul Riquelme The complications of "Prufrock" involve from the poem's beginning a more direct transformation of the dramatic monologue than does "Gerontion" when the pronouns that "I" uses suggest the presence of an unspecified listener.
  3. On "The Love Song of J.
  4. And attempts to free the individual voice by breaking out of forms register, as in "Prufrock," only as impulses to dismemberment and suicide.

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?

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock Summary

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 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. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 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, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question, To say: 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: 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.

  • In the "secondary stimulation of the unconscious mind" that occurs at this point, he partly abandons and partly resolves the struggle of form and matter; the integration of the psyche remains at best incomplete;
  • 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;
  • Alfred Prufrock by T;
  • It could no longer stand comfortably on its old post-Romantic ground, ecstatic before the natural world;
  • In the second, Guido da Montefeltro predicates his address to Dante on the opposite mistake, that Dante is not human and cannot carry his words further;
  • Alfred Prufrock" is obvious and notorious.

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind?

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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 that they will sing to me.

Navigate Guide

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 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

  • Reader and viewer stand both inside and outside the frame of an illusion that cannot be sustained;
  • Both kinds of anesthesia subject the individual voice to anterior fon11ulas, forms, and styles.

Collected Poems 1909-1962 1963.