A Piece of Prufrock

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--
...
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,
Politic, cautious, and metickous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At time indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at time, the Fool.

T. S. Eliot

I am breaking up the greatest poem in the English language. Okay, that's a bold statement, but it may the best one I know. I LOVE this poem. If Edgar Allen Poe was the patron poet of little baby Goth Katie, something about Eliot makes him the patron poet of my adulthood.

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is a longish poem, and it is so packed with meaning that I couldn't put it up all at once. This part itself doesn't speak to me, but I think I used to know this guy. That line: "Do I dare?" and Prufrock's answer is "No". He doesn't. He turns back and descends the stair. Other places in the poem explain why - he is afraid. He dreads giving it his everything and not being understood. He thinks of himself as a footnote in the universe. He isn't sure it would be worth it. I'm sure there are more - this is a packed poem.

But here, in this moment, it doesn't matter his reasons for turning back. Whatever his reasons, the result was the same: he went back down the stairs. There's a story there, one I don't think I could bear to write, because it is so incredibly sad. He DECIDES not to be Prince Hamlet. He hopes for attendant lord, a footnote, but one who mattered. But...he went back down the stair, and that means he is the Fool.

I want to shake T.S. Eliot's hand someday. And then leave quickly, because he was an unpleasant snob in real life. But yes: the handshaking must happen. The rest of the poem will here, too - one piece at a time.