Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Prufrock. . . . .

From The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. . . 

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised 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?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

This has always been one of my favorite poems because it is a stroll through the human condition; it is a free association, a Flâner through the world without the demands of purposive-rational action that motivates most of our actions today. The poem also reminds me of the degree to which people walk around as though dead in a dying culture. 

I encourage you to read it and enjoy it. http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html

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