Critical Analysis

To make the most out of this poem it is important that each company member has a full knowledge of not only what it is about but also of the themes and imagery within it. Trying my best not to put my English Literature head on too much, a succinct critical analysis of the poem is important.

Although the poem’s title, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, connotes that it is one about love, it can be argued that this is not the case. The overall message is one of Prufrock’s disappointments in society; we gather that he feels it is bleak and monotonous. This is a clear theme that runs throughout, and so maybe this emptiness is something we could convey physically as a part of our performance.

Another concept the poem explores is Prufrock’s relationship with other people, in particular the opposite sex. Eliot has used a very nervous, introverted character as a focus and tool for the story, and this characterisation paired with the vacancy of his outlook on life provides a useful and versatile basis for our piece.

The epigraph comes from Dante’s Inferno and it could be said that this was put in place by Eliot to make the reader question “who they are” and what is good. It also gives the poem miserable and negative foundations; a feeling of mystery.

Eliot’s opening stanza is bleak and seedy, the description of the “half-deserted streets” and “sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells” reflecting Prufrock’s views on the place. He is snappy and seems on edge, which makes the reader feel a sense of danger and concern; the poem is not what they had expected (“Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”) However, there is the illusion of the reader being taken on a journey with “Let us go then, you and I” and this close reader-persona relationship could be echoed in an audience-actor relationship. There are many instances within the poem where Prufrock seems to ask himself questions, like an internal monologue that the audience is spying on.

Prufrock’s disagreement and disappointment with his surroundings is reiterated by later stanzas and images. For example, “yellow fog” makes the reader feel dirty and “time to murder and create” builds an extremely uninviting image and situation. Throughout, the reader is made to feel uneasy and this is something we could try and inflict upon our audience.

In my opinion the poem is rather humorous at times, despite its bleak nature, and lines such as “Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?” have a bittersweet tone. They are seemingly light-hearted comments but the reality of it is Prufrock’s regret at wasting life away and growing old. Towards the end of the poem he makes many comments about the physical troubles of ageing – “With a bald spot in the middle of my hair – (They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’)” – which suggests his character is one that cares an immense amount about what other people think of him. He is insecure. Maybe insecurity and the fear of growing old, which we worked on a little during the study of Chekhov’s Three Sisters, is an aspect the company could include in the piece.

Prufrock’s stilted relationship with the woman he loves becomes even more apparent at the end of the poem, as he desperately tries to tell her of his adoration but doesn’t have the courage or confidence. “No! I am not prince Hamlet” is an exclamation of regret and confusion and it is a sad and melancholic conclusion.

He ends up weary on a beach, alone and an old man. The beach location reflects not only his being physically alone, but also psychologically, as he lost everything he could have had due to the fear of rejection and is now lost in his own mind. Eliot creates a terribly sad and reflective tone on Prufrock’s hearing the mermaids: “I do not think they will sing to me.”  The line stands alone, just as Prufrock does, and it could be seen as his final surrender to acceptance of his life being over and wasted.

Prufrock’s sadness is something that all humans can relate to, but on varying scales. We all have moments in our lives where we miss out on pursuing our desires and dreams due to fear of rejection from individuals and/or society. In the end, one could interpret the message of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock to be about the importance of living in the moment, and making the most out of our lives on earth.

There is a plethora of aspects of this poem that could inspire our piece, and this analysis has helped me better understand it as a whole. 

References within the poem

Throughout the poem there are many historical, literary and historical references that T. S. Eliot has woven in to the text. Some of these I did not understand and/or recognise; therefore I did some research on them so I could attain a greater understanding of the poem and therefore be able to interpret it better with regards to performance.

The first reference which I didn’t understand and have previously researched was the Italian that opens the poem. This is in fact a reference to Dante’s Inferno, and the possible reasons for this are explored in a previous post.

I am not particularly in to art and although I was aware that Michelangelo was a famous artist, I had no idea from when or any information regarding him. I did some brief research so I could better understand the repeated phrase: “In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo.” Michelangelo Buonarroti was born on 6 March 1475 in Caprese near Florence in Italy. At just thirteen he was apprenticed to the artist Domenico Ghirlandaio and all throughout his life he was commissioned important projects even including the tomb of Pope Julius II. He died in Rome on 18 February 1564.

I am not sure why this is included in the poem but it must be of some importance as the line is repeated more than once throughout Prufrock. From my research it seems that some theories are that it refers to a location in the poem as well as Prufrock’s attempts to reach out of his own mind and explore greater things in the universe. One source related this to Michelangelo’s painting “The creation of Adam” which is located on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

T. S. Eliot also refers to Lazarus, who after research, I learned was a Biblical character that Jesus brought back to life after he had been laid to rest in a tomb. The reference is in line 94: “To say: ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead, come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all.’” The stanza includes the juxtaposition of insignificant things such as “cups, the marmalade, the tea” and the importance and historical significance of people like Lazarus. 

Italian Meaning

The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock begins with a stanza in Italian, which before research didn't add much to the poem and its meaning. Therefore, I did some work on it to see what it meant and if it might help me in performance and workshop.

“If I believed that my response was heard / by anyone returning to the world, / this flame would stand and never stir again, / But since no man has ever come alive / out of this gulf of Hell, if I hear true,/ I’ll answer, with no fear of infamy”

"If I thought my reply were to one who could ever return to the world, this flame would shake no more; but since, if what I hear is true, none ever did return alive from this depth, I answer you without fear of infamy."               — Dante, Inferno

I found more than one version of the translation as shown above but they all have similar meanings and are from the same place. To begin with I was unaware that the Italian was a quote and not crafted by Eliot himself. It comes from Dante’s 14^th century epic poem called Inferno which explores the 9 stages of hell (‘inferno’ meaning ‘Hell’ in Italian) in a harrowing amount of detail.

The quotation seems rather irrelevant placed by itself and not in the context of Eliot’s poem – he was rather obsessive over Dante’s work; this is not the first time Dante has cropped up in T. S. Eliot’s poems. The quotation comes from Dante’s exploration of the eighth circle of Hell, where he meets a man named Guido who is condemned for the rest of his life, and doesn’t even have his own body anymore, he is just a flame (“this flame would shake no more.”) Guido refuses to tell Dante why he has been sent to such a deep level of Hell as he has never met someone who can leave the place and fears people on earth with find out what he did. He is afraid that his reputation will be ruined. However, since he believes it is impossible for Dante to leave, he tells him of his sins anyway, but of course Dante does return from Hell.

But why has Eliot included the quote before The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock? There are varying perspectives on this, one of which is that it is an indication of Prufrock’s self-obsessed worries of his own reputation – something that might prove interesting to explore as a character exercise – and another of which is that the poem is about Prufrock’s living hell, and his pretence in being a good person.

These varying ideas and ambiguity allow for a variety of theatrical opportunity. Maybe many versions of Prufrock’s character could be portrayed – good and bad? This research has added new depth to the poem for me, and I will aim to apply some of this to my performance, whatever form it should take!

Initial Response to all poems.

The Nerve Meter by Antonin Artaud

Artaud himself is widely known to have been a very troubled, nervous soul but is also considered to be one of the world’s most influential experimental and surrealist figures. The Nerve Meter confused me, and I found it extremely difficult to fully understand what Artaud was trying to convey. I think this confusion might be useful as a part of an experimental piece of theatre because it might create the right mood and atmosphere for the poem’s tone to be understood fully by an audience.

Phrases such as “I am a total abyss” are short, plain and shocking. The word “abyss” has the potential to be physically portrayed and suggests a variety of different meanings: a real abyss, an abyss of the mind and so on.

The poem feels fragmented and awkward, there is something extremely un-poetic about it, something that makes it feel more like a confession than a poem. The phrase “beautiful pain” is disturbing and in my opinion, this sense of surrealism and darkness provides an interesting and versatile basis for performance.

The Flea by John Donne

Arguably, this poem is extremely romantic and seductive, despite its unlikely basis for analogy. This interesting choice makes it experimental, and also opens it up to experimental interpretation through performance. Essentially, the poem is about premarital sex and the desperation of the poem’s persona; lines such as “Where we almost, nay more than married are” have potential to be humorous if delivered with such intent. It is almost cheeky or furtive. There are lots of figurative images within the language of The Flea such as “marriage temple”, “two bloods mingled” and “Purpled thy nail”, which suggest strong, visual shapes onstage. Various skills we have developed in physical theatre may be useful for interpreting this poem through theatre.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

This poem is rich with references to Symbolist poets, as Eliot was heavily influenced by them at the time of writing it. The poem feels quite surreal, a part of the symbolist influence, and there are many images within it that don’t seem quite right, such as “Arms that lie along a table” and “yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes”. Eliot creates a story of an undiscovered poet using really surreal and off-putting phrases and images, which allows theatre makers to experiment with a wide range of areas of the text.

The emotional level of the poem is rather melancholic; towards the end rather reflective. The phrase “I do not think that they will sing to me” is so simple, almost childlike, that it brings the reader, and potentially the audience, back to the meaning of the poem.  All of the lines that are about the persona growing old are lightly humorous. This is not obvious but you can hear the gentle tones of the speaker making the most out of his trapped situation of growing old and unrecognised. “I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled” made me chuckle, but only just. The final location of the sea is distant, like how the character feels, and I can visualise plenty of experimentation that could be done around this.

The Poem

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         5 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….         10 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. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         15 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,         20 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;         25 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;         30 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. In the room the women come and go         35 Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         40 (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare         45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         50 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—         55 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?         60   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!) Is it perfume from a dress         65 That makes me so digress? 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         70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. .      .      .      .      .      .      .      . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!         75 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?         80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,         85 And in short, I was afraid. 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,         90 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: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         95 If one, settling a pillow by her head,   Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;   That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while,         100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say:   “That is not it at all,   That is not what I meant, at all.” .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .         110 No! 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,         115 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 …         120 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.         125 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. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown         130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.