“The Love
Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Elliot is a poem about an inability to
express oneself and it’s role in a man’s life. Prufrock, the man in question,
is not blameless. He himself struggles to even think or plan about how to communicate,
isolating potential companions.
Would it have been worth while
This one line speaks volumes about
the piece’s tone. The line, internally voiced as a question, exhibits both the anxiety
and disquiet present. Questions are often dangerous, as they can lead to
unwelcome answers. Prufrock is questioning his past deeds, or rather lack
thereof. Five times this line, or variations of it, is repeated. Repetition is
used to enforce an idea, but it is also a sign of obsession. There is much
rhyming and repeating within the stanza and poem, making it clear the
protagonist is caught up in his ideas. Mania about the outer world pervades in
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”. Perhaps the fact that he cannot come up
with a solid answer pushes him to the dull lack of hope that permeates
throughout the poem.
In
the room the women come and go
Talking
of Michelangelo
Humor tinged with despair follows
these words. Just in one room are his observations made, but for Prufrock they
are enough. Women coming and going signify not simply change and difference,
but flightiness and an inability to concentrate. There are many of them, none with their own new conversation
topic. Their image brings to mind human drones, their intelligence only surface deep. Repetitive and dull, they fill the stanzas and Prufrock with despondency
that comes from mind-numbing boredom.
Michelangelo is one of the most
renowned artists from the Renaissance. His legendary prowess could be discussed
by many for days. Countless books by scholars have been written. The artworks
he created are practically synonymous with culture and sophistication. Prufrock
views these women frivolously talking about a great master about whom they know
nothing but his name. They are, put
simply, airheads dimming the world’s hope for intelligence and worthy,
worthwhile conversation. Prufrock does not see himself as belonging to the wretched
creatures. This sense of not belonging continues to snake its way through the
poem.
