T.S. Eliot - The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock
When I first read this poem I was eighteen, at university, starting out on a degree in English literature. 20th century American poetry was a highlight for an eighteen year old, the lives and the poetry, the casting aside of tradition, of form and expression, of seeking a new way of saying something, of even endeavouring to say something new, to take literature on a new path.
I read this poem once and instantly knew that it was going to take sometime to get inside the words, the spirit of the poetry. And indeed it did. I sat at a bus stop waiting for a late bus one Friday night and read the poem over a dozen times (the bus must have been late), and just as the headlights of the bus turned the corner, I finally grasped what T.S. Eliot was on about.
Interestingly, to put the meaning of the poem into words does not explain the meaning of the poem. To discuss its themes doesn't do it either. There are thousands of essays available for you to download on the web, none of which will bring the poem to life. The only way to truly grasp this poem, to get it into your head, is to be able to read it out loud and let each phrase intimately connect with your dreams, your hopes, your sorrow, your fear and your despair.
As the poet writes, Oh do not ask, "What is it?"/Let us go and make our visit.
At university I started my degree with papers in literature and psychology and philosophy. I quickly came to realise that for a brain such as mine the world of theory and fact was virtually meaningless. I loved to discover the truth through the brilliant ambiguity of literature and art, where meaning was to be sensed, absorbed, even only hinted at rather than fully stated and understood. This is the same as interactions between humans – so much is hinted at, suggested, implied, guessed, it may come down to a shrug of the shoulders, a look of the eyes. Very rarely can we express the truth of what is within through the singular use of words. If we were to analyse the exact words that we use, we would rarely grasp the intended message from one human to another.
But as a Christian, I may query whether I should be approaching such poetry, the words that seem so hopeless, melancholy. Then I remember that one of the descriptions of Jesus is the man of sorrows. That it could be that the expression, the understanding of the existential meaninglessness of the human condition that reveals Jesus' life and love for us. An acceptance, rather than a rejection of melancolia is, perhaps, an important reality underpinning the true message of Christianity. It is where so many of my friends exist, at varying degrees of melancolia, and to grasp this condition, is to understand where they are at, and where Jesus is at with them, where he can enter and be at one with them, bringing his love to wherever they are existing.
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?
Yes, you should, you should feel free to both read it and write it. This is reality, the reality that Jesus gave us to experience. Not all experience is joyful, happy, hopeful, some of it is dark and melancholic, and that is not to say that it is bad, it is an essence of being a human, and God created us with this ability. You may be one of those lonely people, and that is your reality, it should be expressed, not rejected as wrong or lesser, it is your reality. The same as at other times your life may be full of light and joy. And anywhere inbetween. Wherever we are, Jesus is there with us, understanding, loving, caring, rejoicing, crying.
God bless
Wheldon
