Monday, May 16, 2011


I have loved sections of poetry, lines of poetry, as I just mentioned. And that is all. Further understanding just aborts in me. I love these - have loved them from the first time I read Prufrock. But I don't care for much else in the poem.

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,
And in short, I was afraid

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 that they will sing to me.

1 comment:

Larry Sheldon said...

I'm a Robert Service, E. A. Poe kind of guy.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold;

do you know what "moil" means?