I read Prufrock again today

[Erthona]

revised
He Who prevaricates Is Lost

I read Prufrock again today
and as always it had its sway
with me, while I drank my tea
my emerald green and tasteless tea.
Such libations I rarely notice
as they blend with the
blandness of my life.

Yes I lost my wife
and now I am absent hate and strife.
I think it sat too well with me
I try to Let It Be.
I am no longer a tempest
in a teapot tossed
no longer at a loss.

Though I feel unfulfilled
(maybe as I always will)
this emptiness now suits me.
I have no desire to fill this hole
in fact I feel much more complete
being bereft of that burning coal.

A Post Modern man am I
with large belly and skinny thigh.
I constantly feel as though I'm high
though I haven't toked a thing.

The mark is there from my wedding ring
from a life tattooed
having lived a life in servitude.
Love has whittled me to a point
a singularity of thought
as though enlivened by a drought.
I've no need of a way out
though rains do not fall.
In fact no moisture here at all
for plants to grow.
My landscape sere
I have nothing left to fear.

Thus in my solitude I sit
minding it not a bit
in this desert of lifelessness
I find myself content.

©2020 erthona

original

I read Prufrock again today

I read Prufrock again today
and as always it had its sway
with me, while I drank my tea
my emerald green and tasteless tea.
Such libations I rarely notice
as they blend with the bland-
ness of my Milquetoast life.

Did you hear I lost my wife?
It sat well I think with me
so much for that and my tea.
I dangle my finger in the sea
and I try to Let It Be
no longer a tempest
in a teapot tossed
no longer at a loss.

Though I feel unfulfilled
and maybe I always will
this emptiness now suits me.
I have no desire to fill this hole
in fact I feel much more whole
being bereft of that burning coal.

A Post Modern man am I
with large belly and skinny thigh.
I constantly feel as though I'm high
though I haven't toked a thing.

The scar is there from my wedding ring
for a life tattooed
from a life of servitude.
Still I am no more a prude
nor less and no pride do I have;
love has whittled me to a point
a singularity of thought
as though enlivened by a drought.
I've no need of a way out
though rains do not fall.
In fact no moisture here at all
for plants to grow and they do not.
My landscape sere
and I have nothing left to fear.

Thus in my solitude I sit
minding it, not a bit
in this desert of lifelessness
I find myself content.



©2020 erthona

[Knot]

.
Hi Dale,
enjoyed the read (though S4 seemed more filler than meat) and perhaps the final line needs to be revisited
(even just cutting the last word might lift it a bit). I think it need stightening, and some specific word choices
could/should? be addressed, not to mention some of the punctuation.

Comments and suggestions(which are bound to mess with your meter/rhythm) below


I read Prufrock again today
and as always it had its sway
- like the opening, though would prefer a different title.
'had its sway' doesn't work at all. 'Held sway' or 'had its way', pick one personally I'd be tempted by
and, as so oft, it had its way
with me, while I drank my tea
my emerald green and tasteless tea.
- nice couplet. (but 'emerald' though?)
Such libations I rarely notice
- 'libations' seems to be trying too hard
(and if 'rarely notice' why is this one noted?)
such beverages I barely notice
blending, as they do, with the bland-
as they blend with the bland-
ness of my Milquetoast life.

Did you hear I lost my wife?
It sat well I think with me
- the phrasing seems entirely rhyme driven, and noticeable for that.
It sits, I think, quite well with me
but I can't relate it to the next line.
so much for that and my tea.
I dangle my finger in the sea
- Rather an abrupt change, mid verse.
I dip my little finger in the sea
and I try to Let It Be
(I) no longer a tempest
in a teapot tossed
(I becalmed) no longer at a loss.
- Might be interesting to move the 'tea/sea/tempest' lines elsewhere (the 'Post-Modern verse, for instance) and go from the opening three lines straight into the next verse.
Did you hear I lost my wife?
It sits, I think, quite well with me
so much for that and my tea.

Though I feel unfulfilled
- Be nice if the 'reader' was addressed here, as in the preceding verse.
and maybe I always will
this emptiness now suits me.
I have no desire to fill this hole
in fact I feel much more whole
being bereft of that burning coal.
- 'bereft' doesn't really work that well.
this emptiness now suits me.
No desire, have I, to fill this hole,
in fact, I feel that much more whole
being unburdened of that burning coal.

A Post Modern man am I
- any chance of a modifier to Post-Modern?
(Like the G&S sound of the line )
with large belly and skinny thigh.
- 'thigh' really needs to be plural.
I constantly feel as though I'm high
though I haven't toked a thing.
- how does this 'feeling high' relate to
'Milquetoast life'?
A placid post-modern man am I
a Buddha's belly and skinny thighs
constantly feeling …
... I dangle my finger in the sea ...

The scar is there from my wedding ring
- Wonder if this scar here ... is more immediate?
for a life tattooed
- not working for me, not after 'scar'.
from a life of servitude.
Still I am no more a prude
nor less and no pride do I have;
- 'nor less and no' ? Not following this. It seems to say that N is, precisely, a prude, and one without pride.
love has whittled me to a point
a singularity of thought
as though enlivened by a drought.
- perhaps 'concentrated' rather than 'enlivened'?
I've no need of a way out
- don't like the contraction here, it's the first in the piece and feels intrusive.
though rains do not fall.
- given 'drought' this seems unnecessarily repetitious.
In fact no moisture here at all
for plants to grow and they do not.
My landscape sere
and I have nothing left to fear.
- I think you could cut all the lines after 'drought' and go from there to 'Thus, in my …'

Thus in my solitude I sit
minding it, not a bit
in this desert of my contentment
I (have found) myself , (again,
reading Prufrock)


Best, Knot


.

[Erthona]

Knot,

Thanks for your nice in depth critique, it was beneficial. 

This is stream of conscious, thus the odd non-sequitur.

" 'nor less and no' ? Not following this. It seems to say that N is, precisely, a prude, and one without pride." Yes that's it exactly, he is contradictory and there are little redeeming qualities to this person.

Most of the lines are in relation to his failing relationship, not just his wife but all relationships. He meanders in his thought so he can justify his isolation in order to protect himself. 

In Prufrock Elliot speaks to the timidness in men brought on by the modern age, this poem attempts to update that notion. 

Regardless, thanks for your help, there are definitely things that need correction.

dale

[Knot]

.

Hi Dale.

This is stream of conscious, thus the odd non-sequitur.

- Granted, except that it is contrived, considered and capable of being edited. and the 'sequiturs' don't seem so much 'odd' as rhyme driven. Also, Prufrock doesn't change the subject mid verse.

Purely a personal view, but a direct question like 'did you hear I lost my wife', seems to me to implicitly invoke a 3rd person, making this seem less internal

monologue and more rambling soliloquy. (The latter I'm rather fond of).

Yes that's it exactly, he is contradictory and there are little redeeming qualities to this person.

- Then perhaps change the line break?

Still I am no more a prude nor less

and no pride have I;

makes for a much easier/smoother read, or even

Still I am no less nor more a prude

and ...

In Prufrock Elliot speaks to the timidness in men brought on by the modern age, this poem attempts to update that notion.

- I'm not really getting 'update' from this (for instance 'Milquetoast' originates in the 1930s, 'singularity' at its most recent is 1965 or, the more likely usage, from 1893), this 'feels' almost contemporary with the original. Claiming 'post-modern' doesn't make it so.

I would be more interested to hear more of N#s particular concerns, rather than the many echoes of the original. Somewhere out there there's probably a ghastly incel version of Prufrock.

Best, Knot

.

[Erthona]

Knot,

I meant update in terms of idea, not language, although I did excise 'Milquetoast' as it is a little dated. Our N is a fancy man and would use "libation". Hell I use it and I am not a fancy man.

Stream of consciousness is just that, a stream of consciousness. This may not resemble "To the Lighthouse". If you prefer, it is as you've said, a "rambling soliloquy". Stream of consciousness does not have to be a reverie, it can also be a one-sided dialogue. I did address the wife line.

Anyway I did a revision which I think answer a number of problems you pointed out. See what you think.

dale

[Knot]

.

Hi dale,

clearly I'm not the best to critique this piece (which I'm reading as the ruminations of a relatively new divorcée, not a widower), so take what follows with as large a pinch of salt as needed ...

(I'm not sure what ideas are updated here, both works share elements of timidity, apathy, inertia, prevarication - what am I missing? I'm also really intrigued by why N is reading Prufrock again at this time. I'd like to know what he gets out of it, that it is something in itself, and not simply a justification for the 'form' of the piece.)

Our N is a fancy man and would use "libation"

But wouldn't he use it correctly? Using it to refer to a beverage is generally ironic, and what irony there is here, as far as I can see, rests on the play between 'healthy' green tea and a 'large belly' - but they are too far apart for it to work.

You've also the problem of had its sway / of me. If 'sway' as in 'influence' then surely this should be 'swayed / me' ?

What's missing, for me, is some elaboration, however discursive, on the circumstances in which N lost his wife before rushing to the inevitable wife/strife rhyme. Perhaps not a phrase a 'fancy man' might use, but maybe the rhyming slang 'trouble and strife' might be employed?

Yes, you heard, I lost my wife

the ball unchained, the troubling strife

mislaid, or so the gossips gabbled,

yet here is peace amidst the rubble

that long war's ruin

too well it sat with me

I think, and now

I try to let it be and drink

my tea, my emerald green and tasteless tea.

no longer tempest, teacup tossed,

no longer I no longer at a loss.

but drawn down to the dregs, the leaves

and crumbs of nothing

less than this most welcome peace

Though I feel unfulfilled

Best, Knot

.

[Erthona]

Hi knot,

Sorry didn't see this reply. I think the update is that what was wrong with Prufrock has gotten worse in depth, not in kind. But it really doesn't matter now. I think i will let this dead horse lie. thanks for your effort.

dale

[crow]

I’m late to the tea party.

Can I ask a whittled-to-a-pointed question? This is a poem about a widower looking for sex, yes? And the teapot is a metaphor for cock and balls? When I read, did you hear I lost my wife and then the dangling a finger line, it feels solicitous. I feel like you’re going for humor here.

Am I being too dumb or too smart?

[Erthona]

Crow,

(Been awhile)

Yes, it was going for humor, at least dark humor. I will take what you have found although I cannot remember if such were completely intentionally. I'd go for smart to be able to get some gold out of this chat

best,

dale

[crow]

I’ve spent an hour and a half trying to develop decent crit, here. I can’t.

This poem has a good stanza,

“ The mark is there from my wedding ring
from a life tattooed
having lived a life in servitude.
Love has whittled me to a point
a singularity of thought
as though enlivened by a drought.
I've no need of a way out
though rains do not fall.
In fact no moisture here at all
for plants to grow.
My landscape sere
I have nothing left to fear.”

It’s ruined by the title about lying and the errant allusion to Beatles music.

That doesn’t make it bad—it’s a rather good poem—it makes it meaningless. Am I trying to crit a prevarication?

I don’t think poems are good at lying. I think they’re good at mystery and truth. When a poem prevaricates, it gets too stringy to eat.

Do what you want, but how do we crit a poem written by a liar?

“He Who prevaricates Is Lost

“I read Prufrock again today [. . . ]”

“He” never appears in the poem, so is “I” “he”? Is “I” lying? Is this a post-modern inquest about the meaning of words? Or is that a prevarication?

You have prevaricated drop-capped and Is capped. That’s a mistake.

Or is it?

My point is, a lie makes a poem like this unmanageable for purposes of feedback. So ditch the prevarication idea, ditch Eliot, ditch the Beatles, ditch the Post Modern reference, and build the poem around your strongest stanza.

[Erthona]

Thanks Crow.

at least there is one good stanza You give a very thoughtful critique. Thank you. Better than this deserves

All I can say in defense is there is very little self-truth in man today, when he deigns to think at all. It seems you would have me be earnest, or at least see "The Importance of being Earnest," but that is two many years gone and facetiousness has replaced proper satire I'm afraid as I am no proper "Merchant of Venice" although a pound of flesh still contains the same amount of gold, it can no longer be eaten either cooked or raw. Still, when I am pricked I do bleed and must cauterize the wound

Thanks again,

best,

dale

[crow]

I think that’s kinda what I was asking, yeah.

---

So, this poem is to be read as written. Meaning, it’s all on purpose.

Let me try again.

---

I just spent another thirty minutes with this.

So,

In fact no moisture here at all
for plants to grow and they do not.
My landscape sere
and I have nothing left to fear.


Should read:

In fact, no moisture’s here at all
for plants to grow, and they do not.
My landscape’s sere,
and I have nothing left to fear.

If the lack of proper punctuation is intended, and it might be, then this poem is voiced, introducing yet another nest of concerns.

The thing is, if it it’s not voiced, and the bad grammar is sloppy, I hate the whole thing.

If the bad grammar is intended, this might be some nekkid Beckett-ass-shit.

So, lots of “post modern” poetry is nihilistic, and lots of post-modern writing is pre-existential. And this is neither. It’s some weird post-modern existential script that requires rumination.

Or it sucks.

The line, “my emerald green and tasteless tea” is bad. It should be revised to eliminate redundancy, extra syllables, etc., as follows, “my bland emerald tea”. I have never read a more wasted syllable than “green” in this line.

But the line before it is “with me, while I drank my tea”.

So the whole line is useless except it has a literal and figurative gem in the middle of it. And it’s not green emerald tea, it’s emerald green and tasteless.

And I’d still say, meh, this poem is wordy and useless, except the whole thing describes a teapot, and I somehow end up wondering if it isn’t too pointed.

I have had the following thought a few times in my life: learn to eat from the thornbush. Thornbushes keep you from brushing past them, and they have sweet fruit if you stay still and study them closely.

I don’t know if this poem is good, but it’s a thornbush. It keeps me. I’m having a hard time dismissing it.

That might be crit for basic. I don’t know.

This thing is vexing to me.

---

This thing is making me crazy.

---

Because burning coal is a reference to Revelation, right?