A Friday Night Poem

Here are the opening lines of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot, just because they’re fabulous. I first encountered this poem when I was an undergraduate, lo these many many moons ago, and it wormed its way into my brain, so that I half-know the words still.

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
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.

 

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