نقد و بررسی شعر The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock نوشته ی T.S.

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965).

Prufrock and Other Observations. 1920.

1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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.




The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock = implies an ironic contrast between the romantic suggestions of "love song" and the dully prosaic name "J. Alfred Prufrock"

Let us go then, you and i = lets go to party


When the evening is spread out against the sky
like a patient etherized upon a table =
در اینجا evening به patient و sky به table تشبیه شده است


Half-deserted streets = people are going home and no one is at street


The muttering retreats = there is no sound (matanomy)


To lead you to an overwhelming question = paradox


Michelangelo = symbol of beauty


The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes = personification


The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the windowpanes = metaphor (smoke is resembled to muzzle)


And indeed there will be time = allusion (Cf. Andrew Marvell's To his Coy Mistress : Had we but world enough and time ...)


To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet = put mask


There will be time to murder and create = mentally kill


And time for all the works and days of hands = allusion (works and days is a poem about the farming years by Hesiod, greek poet of 8th century B.C. Eliot's contrast is between useful agricultural labor and the futile "works and days of hands" engaged in meaningless social gesturing)
دستایی که تو مهمونی چایی می ریزه با دستایی که تو مزرعه کار می کنه فرق داره ؛ اونا بی استفادن



Time to turn back and descend the stair = coming back to youth again


My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin = he's gentle, he is not as well as before (his body is old now)


Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons = everyday of my life


I have measured out my life with coffee spoons = i don't want to loose my every minute of life

Coffee spoons = means my life is worthless


I know the voices dying with a dying fall = ironic recollection of Orsino's speech in twelfth night : that strain again! It had a dying fall
صداها بهم دروغ میگن که چقدر تو زیبا بنظر میرسی

Dying = 1. Lie 2. Dying hair



So how should i presume? = 1. Communicate with others 2. Continue life



And i have known the eyes already, known them all = metanomy



The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase = synocdoche
مردم مجبورت می کنند که تو یه قالب مشخص که اونا میخوان زندگی کنی


When i am pinned and wriggling on the wall
وقتی تو یه قالب مشخص زندگی کنی مثل یه عکس هستی که به دیوار آویزونت کردن


And how should i presume ?
چه جوری چیزی رو که تو مغزم میگذره رو بگم


And i have known the arms already, known them all_
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
تو این قسمت از انواع قسمت های مختلف بدن گفته یعنی هیچ معنویت و روحی وجود نداره فقط مثل ربات می مونن


Shall i say, i have gone at dusk through narrow streets
and watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows ? = stream of consciousness , pictorial


Scuttling across the floors of silent seas = under sea is very calm and silent / seas = endless world


Though i have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter = biblical allusion


To say : i am lazarus come from the dead = person who come back to life by breath of jesus christ


Politic, cautious, and meticulous,
full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse,
at times, indeed, almost ridiculous = meticulous , ridiculous (contradictory)


I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled = refer to death


Shall i part my hair behind ? Do i dare to eat a peach? = shall i pair, making love and having energy


White flannel trousers = represents death / light dress of old people


Till human voices wake us, and we drown = stands for morality of this world

---------------------

Photo stands for death because there is no movement


The whole body refers to sprituality, soul


Setting : autumn -----> symbol of getting old