T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock” is far from a conventional serenade. Instead, this landmark poem, often referred to simply as ‘The Love Song’, unfolds as a profound and intimate confession, meticulously crafted in the form of a dramatic monologue. Echoing the secretive tone established from its outset, the poem opens with an epigraph from Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. This excerpt immediately sets the stage, suggesting Prufrock’s desire for an audience that will listen intently to his ‘song’ yet remain discreet, guarding his vulnerabilities from the outside world. Eliot masterfully establishes Prufrock’s desolate and detached reality right from the start, depicting his environment as spaces of “muttering retreats” and “restless nights,” amidst “streets that follow like a tedious argument, / Of insidious intent.”
While a surface reading might suggest that “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” grapples with grand existential questions—”Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”’ and “Do I dare disturb the universe?”—the poem delves into the intricate psyche of a man paralyzed by emotional immaturity and intellectual over-analysis. Prufrock is portrayed as highly educated, evidenced by his rich tapestry of allusions to classical literature and biblical narratives. Consider the poignant lines, “Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,” a clear invocation of St. John the Baptist’s gruesome fate at the request of Salome, as detailed in Mark 6:19-29. He further diminishes his self-image with “No! I am not Prince Hamlet,” a direct reference to Shakespeare’s iconic, indecisive protagonist. And in a moment of fleeting grandiosity, undercut by irony, he declares, “To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,” ’ referencing Jesus’s miraculous raising of Lazarus in John 11:38-44. These references serve not to elevate Prufrock, but to highlight the chasm between his self-perceived importance and his crippling inaction, particularly in his interactions with women.
Prufrock’s anxiety surrounding women, seemingly focused on a singular, idealized figure of romantic interest, is palpable throughout the poem. His fragmented perception of women is striking; he struggles to view them holistically, instead fixating on isolated details. We see this in his descriptions: “perfume from a dress,” “Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl,” and “after the skirts that trail along the floor.” This piecemeal objectification reveals his inability to engage with women as complete individuals, further fueling his isolation.
His famous line, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” encapsulates Prufrock’s preemptive surrender to a life of triviality and missed opportunities. This potent image of mundane routine underscores his fear of genuine connection. He meticulously envisions a tea party setting—”After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, / Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me”—only to reveal his paralyzing self-doubt about expressing his true feelings: “Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, / Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?” His inability to articulate his inner world is laid bare in the line, “It is impossible to say just what I mean!” This fear culminates in his terror of rejection and misunderstanding, anticipating her dismissive response: “Should say, “That is not what I meant at all. / That is not it at all.” ‘
Prufrock then draws a parallel between his own procrastination and that of Hamlet, the famously hesitant hero of Shakespeare’s tragedy. However, in a twist of self-deprecation, he doesn’t compare himself to Hamlet himself, but rather to Polonius, whom Hamlet famously labels a “tedious old fool” (Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2, Line 143). Prufrock identifies with Polonius’s subservient and ineffectual nature: “Advise the prince; no doubt an easy tool, / Deferential, glad to be of use…Almost, at times, the Fool.” Ultimately, Prufrock resigns himself to a life of inconsequential choices, focusing on superficial aspects of his existence: “I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled” and “Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? / I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.” These lines highlight his retreat into a world of trivial concerns, a stark contrast to the profound emotional and existential dilemmas he initially hints at.
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” initially appears to be written in free verse, characterized by seemingly random and irregular rhyme. Yet, as established, the poem is structured as a dramatic monologue, lending it a conversational, almost stream-of-consciousness quality. The irregular verse structure mirrors natural speech patterns, with each stanza often developing a distinct idea or image. Eliot’s genius lies in his masterful use of fragmentation and ironic juxtaposition. In the opening stanzas, he sharply contrasts the griminess of Prufrock’s external world—”Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells”—with the superficial sophistication of the upper class, “In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo.” This juxtaposition encapsulates the poem’s central tension: the disparity between Prufrock’s inner turmoil and the superficiality of the society he inhabits. Like Michelangelo’s David, the poem is meticulously sculpted, layering diverse poetic techniques and rich allusions. Through this innovative and deeply personal style, T.S. Eliot not only captured the anxieties of the modern individual but also ushered in a new era of 20th-century poetry, a style that continues to resonate and influence poets today, though rarely matched in its original brilliance.
