Tuesday, January 25, 2011

prufrok song

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( peivate place)
Of restless nights in one- night cheap hotels
And sawdust( ) restaurants with oyster- shells :
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious( proceeding harmfully widout bing noticd) 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(jaw) on the window -
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered (remain in a place)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 .
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street ,
Rubbing its back upon the window - panes;
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 ;
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
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 —
[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(resting truly ) by a simple pin —
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin !"]
Do I dare
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 ,
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( andaza) ?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all —
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated , sprawling(stretched) 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?
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
That makes me so digress(to wander frm main topic) ?
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
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( to run with short steps) across the floors of silent seas .
. . . . .
And the afternoon , the evening , sleeps so peacefully !
Smoothed by long fingers ,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers(to pretend sickness) ,
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?
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( male servant) hold my coat , and
snicker(disrespectful laugh ) ,
And in short, I was afraid .
And would it have been worth it , after all ,
After the cups , the marmalade(citeus juice ), the tea ,
Among the porcelain( china ware) , among some talk of you and me ,
Would it have been worth while ,
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 "
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 ,
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
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 . "
. . . . .
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 meticulous ;
Full of high sentence , but a bit obtuse(not sharp ) ;
At times , indeed , almost ridiculous—
Almost , at times , the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
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 they will sing to me .
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
Till human voices wake us , and we drown .

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