In fact, the speaker admits that he finds time for “a hundred indecisions, / and for a hundred visions and revisions,” all before sitting down his afternoon tea! He imagines “descending the stair” and greeting people. In any case, the speaker’s habitual procrastination seems to be rooted in social anxiety since, paralyzed with fear about making the wrong choice, he appears to find even basic decisions about what to eat or how to dress overwhelming. Instead, he explicitly says not to inquire further: “Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’” Maybe the question is just which direction is best to walk in or, indeed, where they’re going in the first place – simple queries that become hurdles in the speaker’s mind. And though the speaker says that the streets “lead you to an overwhelming question,” the speaker doesn’t actually pose that question. These streets “follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent,” suggesting that the various paths they offer up feel both boring and threatening – that there is no clear good path to take. The first line states, “let us go,” implying that the poem will move forward in time and space – in other words, that it will go somewhere.īut that momentum is quickly stalled. The poem’s momentum is continuously frustrated by digressions – the speaker’s thoughts trailing off in seemingly unrelated directions – and by the speaker’s sense of his own inadequacy.īy depicting the speaker’s intense struggle with indecision, the poem suggests that excessive preoccupation with doing the right thing – whether when expressing yourself, forming relationships with others, or simply deciding how to style your hair or what to eat – can actually stop a person from ever venturing forth into the world or, in fact, doing much of anything at all.įrom the beginning, the poem sets up a comparison between action and inaction. Alfred Prufrock” is paralyzed by indecision. He does not have the spirit to do anything in life except thinking and thinking.Īt the end of the poem, he hears the mermaids singing for each other, and he surely knows they won’t sing to him. He rarely thinks of himself and cannot enjoy even a peach. He becomes aware of his growing age and his unkempt clothing. He starts hearing the remarks that others make on his weaknesses. The speaker of the poem, Prufrock, addresses a lover with whom he would like to consummate their relationship somehow.īut he cannot “dare” to approach the woman. This poem is an inspection of the disturbed consciousness of a typical modern man who is powerful, overeducated, anxious, and emotionally artificial. Prufrock will never dare to voice how he feels. The reason behind calling this poem a Love Song lies in the irony that the song will never be sung. However, nothing of this sort takes place in the poem. The title of the poem raises the readers’ expectation that in this poem, the author will be talking about how a lover lays bare his heart at the feet of his beloved. It subjects the emotional frustration and despair, the hollowness of individuals living in any period in history.Įliot’s Love Song does not sing to praise love. The poem is generally not of the 20th century, but it belongs to all ages. He is haunted by the problem of whether he should reveal his love to the lady, and he is unaccomplished. The man meditates too much, and his cowardice is his Achilles’ heel. Eliot showcases the despair and passivity of a middle-aged man, Alfred J. Alfred Prufrock is one of the city man’s first extraordinary poems and is also the poet’s first notable poem. Students can also check the English Summary to revise with them during exam preparation. In this poem, the speaker narrates his inner life’s anxiety and preoccupations. It is considered to be one of the quintessential works of modernism, a literary movement at the turn of the 20th century that emphasized the themes of isolation, alienation, and diminishing power of traditional authority sources. Eliot in the year 1910 and was published in 1915. Alfred Prufrock” is a poem written by T.S. ![]() Alfred Prufrock Analysis: “The Love Song of J.
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