Prufrock

            “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.