A TBC Approach to T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

(Alice Groves)

“And this, and so much more? – “

Classic literature, no matter the genre, attains its status via two distinguishable features: universality of theme and edification of the language in which it is written. Inimitably, Eliot’s dramatic monologue “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” meets these two criteria in a sweeping tapestry which exceeds the sum of its parts, the mystery of which lies in the evocations of language as theme itself rather than language in the role of servitude to theme - and this in the tradition of writers from William Shakespeare to Thomas Hardy to Joseph Conrad.

That Eliot is a sequential player in that powerful tradition is unmistakable as referenced not merely by his authoritative use of allusions from Biblical to literary (Michelangelo, Lazarus, Hamlet, etc.), nor by his masterful weaving of the complete spectrum of poetic elements, but by the haunting evocations of the language itself. While his alignment with the great ‘voices’ of English Literature is in clear and constant evidence, he is in no way derivative; for, like every consummately great artist, he takes the stage - injecting the tradition with his unique voice and creative vision, which act, in turn, re-creates the language, thus pulling the giant shadow of past genius into focus and casting it anew.

Let us note at this juncture, notwithstanding the foregoing, that if one would entirely embrace, understand and appreciate Eliot’s “Prufrock”, one must not get bogged down in the typical mumbo-jumbo/language of intellectual pursuit. Indeed, it would be an error of loss to view this poem exclusively (or at all) within the confines of the litany of standard literary language. While it is handy to refer to the plethora of tightly and seamlessly-woven poetic elements in “Prufrock”, such references should be observed only inasmuch as they serve to assist the reader to discover the essence of the poem, revealed in its complex rhythmic/musical patterns.

A thought or two and some questions for your consideration:

The poet both informs and asks a great deal of the reader, drawing him/her into the yin and yang of Prufrock’s unfulfilled existence, requiring him/her to accompany Prufrock into his own private inferno from beginning to end of the monologue - commencing with the Dantean voce sotto, one might say, and concluding with the “human voices” which, ironically “wake us, and we drown”. In irony upon irony, image upon image - from the very title of the poem (he is no Don Juan and this is no love song) to its desolate yet euphonoius conclusion, Prufrock struggles to find hope - or so it seems - as he simultaneously rejects the notion that his efforts are worthy and/or capable of success (“…would it have been worth it…?”) – the verb tense suggesting that he has never made any serious effort to find out. It is not the “evening” which is “spread out against the sky/Like a patient etherized upon a table;”…..but Prufrock himself, a victim of his own creation.

And it is Prufrock who does not believe (“S’io credesse…”). And it is Prufrock who later admits to being “…pinned and wriggling upon the wall…” Indeed, the entire monologue is a litany of self-imposed misery arising from his lack of conviction, lack of courage, and endless procrastination (“There will be time, there will be time…”) His fear of women who “…come and go/Talking of Michelangelo”, women who “…fix you in a formulated phrase”, women with “Arms that are braceleted and white and bare” is verily visceral. But the deeper fear is his own mortality (“I grow old…I grow old…”) and the creeping awareness that he has “…measured out (his) life with coffee spoons;” …….finally throwing himself upon the mercy of the reader, one might say, in the ‘Prince Hamlet’ stanza in which he reduces himself to being “obtuse…..ridiculous” before trickily alluding to himself as the “Fool” (King Lear) who was no fool at all but the wise man of Shakespeare’s tragedy of filial impiety. Oh dear, the twists and turns through which Prufrock hopes the reader will follow him as he invites him (“Let us go then, you and I”) is so beautifully self-indulgent that, like Ulysses, the reader is wise to have himself tied to the mast of his own convictions before following Prufrock through “Streets that follow like a tedious argument/Of insidious intent…” - no less treacherous than Ulysses’ passage through the Sirens.

QUESTIONS

- What do you perceive to be the “overwhelming question”?

- What parallels might one draw between Prufrock’s existential angst and that of, say, Roquentin in Sartre’s La Nausée?

- How does “The Love Song…” give itself away as an early modernist poem?

- How do you feel about the poem overall?

- Does poetry still play an important role in our society?

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2015 THINKERS' BOOK SELECTION PROGRAM... BEGINS NOW!!

The time has come to fix the schedule for our Reading List for 2015. A number of you who have joined the Club have never attended. Part of that, I'm sure, is that the number of members permitted to attend on a "first-come-first-served" basis is limited to 15; another reason, I suspect, for some of you at least, is that the books we are reading may not have been of particular interest to you. Now is your chance.

For more details, see Discussion Page http://www.meetup.com/Thinkers-Book-Club/messages/boards/thread/46555572

Robert ("Robaire") Nadeau

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T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

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Thinkers' Book Club: From the Classics to Modernism & Beyond

T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Thinkers' Book Club: From the Classics to Modernism & Beyond

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