Poetry

In the third installment in this series of blogs celebrating National Poetry Month, I'm pleased to present the one and only T. S. (Thomas Stearns) Eliot. Born in the United States in 1988, he emigrated to the United Kingdom in 1914 and liked it so much that he decided to become a British citizen. While he is best known for his magnum opus, "The Wasteland", I have selected a passage from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" to share with you today instead. It is my second favorite work of his next to "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats", which was eventually adapted into the long-running Broadway musical "Cats".

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.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
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,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

-- T. S. Eliot