S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. 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:
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… Oh, do not ask, "What is it?
The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock By T.S. Eliot. Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky 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. So how should I presume? Analysis of T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' demonstrates the effects of social and economic pressure in the life of a Victorian man. T.S. Eliot shows us, in an ironic monologue, how the reality of age and social position paralyzes his character with fear. One of the first true modernist poems, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is a shifting, repetitive monologue, the thoughts of a mature male as he searches for love and meaning in an uncertain, twilight world. monstermanfilm.com wrote his dubious love song in /11 but monstermanfilm.com Prufrock didn't appear in.
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.
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.
And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare? 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.
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! 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 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep… tired… or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. 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 toward some overwhelming question, To say: That is not it, at all.
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.
I grow old… I grow old… 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 that they will sing to me. 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.Poetry Analysis: The Love Song of J.
Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot Arguably the best known English poem of the 20th century, "Prufrock" is an interior monologue. Readers eavesdrop on J.
Alfred's stream of consciousness, which flows forward, backward, and sideways as musings trigger other associations not logically but psychologically.
Technical analysis of The Love Song of J.
Alfred Prufrock literary devices and the technique of T.S. Eliot The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. Home / Poetry / The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock / The Love Song of J.
Alfred Prufrock Analysis. Symbols, Imagery, Wordplay. matthew arnold - themes: man and natural world, sadness (grim view of the world), spirituality (looking back in time when people were more spiritual), life, consciousness and existence (throughout the whole poem) - irregular iambic pentameter and complex variable rhymes - imagery: the sea is .
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” Summary. This poem, the earliest of Eliot’s major works, was completed in or but not published until It is an examination of the tortured psyche of the prototypical modern man—overeducated, eloquent, neurotic, and emotionally stilted.
May 04, · The Waste Land is a long, complex and epical poem written by TS Eliot, published in , T S Eliot recieved the NOBEL PRIZE in An analysis of prufocks love life in the lovesong of j alfred prufock by ts eliot Stenograph sitting that sains before time?
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