Prufrock Poem by Celine Socrates

(After Eliot)

We have gone, you and I
When the dark embraced the night
Like some stifled love song,
Cut short in mid-flight.

We have gone through the baffling torque
Of alleys and backstreets in those half-deserted cities.
Not a soul to guess what it was all about.
I could not read your mind.

And that yellow fog between us, hovering
along the cityscape, creeping
through the aging walls, the empty rooms
of abandoned houses.
That dank scent of the forgotten.
Old portraits decaying in their gilded frames.

I could not even see
Your face.
I could vaguely recall
your voice.
You were speaking of
The sea.
That question which you did not ask,
I could not answer.

I waited for you, Prufrock,
In those stuffy, smoke-filled salons.
After the chatter, the clatter
Flutter of arms and dresses
And plates and teacups:

In the room, the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

But I was thinking of you, Prufrock.
Will you dare? Will you dare
Disturb the universe?
You came to me looking for answers
To questions you could not ask.

Was that all, Prufrock?
I have known you like the back of my hand,
I've known your visions and revisions
Your hundreds of indecisions.
I have measured out your life in bitter coffee spoons.
No one forces a moment to its crisis,
Certainly not you, of all people.
Shall I help you put on your coat,
Shall I watch you descend the stairs
Watch you stumble a step,
Tilt the edge of your hat,
Stutter a goodbye.
There is no time. There will be no time.
The mermaids hum your sorrow in the quiet,
And the sea, the sea laments your cowardice.