T.S. Eliot ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Ms. C.

Cotter

Thomas Stearns Eliot was born in 1888 in Missouri to a Bostonian

family.
Educated at Harvard and later completed graduate work at Oxford.
Eventually settled in England and became a British citizen in 1927.
Converted to Anglicanism.
Worked as an editor (and later director) for Faber and Faber.
The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock was published in 1915 and is an
early example of modernist poetry. The Wasteland was published in
1922.
Recipient of Nobel Prize for literature in 1948.
Died in 1965 in London.

1
A quick note on Modernism:

Modernism as a movement began in the late 19th and early 20th century as a
response to many factors, including the emergence of global capitalism,
advances in social sciences, industrialisation and the First World War.

It contrasts with the morality of the Victorian era and with the idealism of the
Romantic era (following the horrors of the First World War and the influence of
industrialism and urbanisation)

Disillusionment and alienation are frequent themes in modernist literature.

Stylistically, modernist literature can be challenging as it is rather fragmented

as streams of consciousness became popular

Key works: Ulysses, The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men

2
The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse​

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,​
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.​
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo​
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,​
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

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.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

3
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the
street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you
meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

4
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

5
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

6
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

7
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown

Aunt Helen

Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,

And lived in a small house near a fashionable square

Cared for by servants to the number of four.

Now when she died there was silence in heaven

And silence at her end of the street.

The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet—

He was aware that this sort of thing had occurred before.

The dogs were handsomely provided for,

But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.

The Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantelpiece,

And the footman sat upon the dining-table

Holding the second housemaid on his knees—

Who had always been so careful while her mistress lived.

8
 II. A Game of Chess

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

77
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,92
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene98
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king99
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.

9
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
110

“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

“Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.

“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

I think we are in rats' alley

115
Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”

The wind under the door.

118
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”

Nothing again nothing.

120
“Do

“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember

“Nothing?”
I remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.125

“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
126
But

O O O O that Shakespeherian rag—

It's so elegant
So intelligent

10
130

“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”

“I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

“With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.

135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
138

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—

I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,140

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,145
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.

11
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)160
The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME165
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

12
Preludes

The winter evening settles down

With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

II

The morning comes to consciousness

Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.

With the other masquerades

That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.

III

You tossed a blanket from the bed,

13
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.

IV

His soul stretched tight across the skies

That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;

The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

14
An Overview of the Poetry of T.S. Eliot

Thomas Stearns Eliot remains one of the most influential twentieth century poets. A seminal
modernist writer, Eliot wrote during a time of great global upheaval that was characterised by
the spread of capitalism, indutrialisation and war. This is reflected in his poetry, where
themes of alienation, stifled communication and urbanisation abound. Eliot wrote poetry that
was considered rather shocking in the early twentieth century- as society emerged from the
Victorian era, allusions to substance abuse, sex and the seediness of urban life were initally
considered rather taboo. Eliot’s poetic style, while sometimes confounding, was new and fresh
as his fragmented, stream of consciousness prose became typical of the modernist writers
who emerged following the First World War.

The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock is perhaps Eliot’s best-known work. The poem is written as
the lengthy, dithering monologue of its titular character. The name J. Alfred Prufrock reminds
us of Eliot’s own triple name, while the surname Prufrock possibly suggests prudishness and
femininity (frock meaning dress). Before we even read the poem, the name in and of itself
suggests someone middle class and educated, if not a little pretentious.
The epigraph to the poem, written in Italian, comes from Dante’s Inferno. In the famous
poem, an inhabitant of the eight circle of hell reveals his terrible crimes as he states that he
can do so because noone has ever returned to earth from hell, and therefore his reputation
will remain intact.This short piece sets up the central conflict of the poem: fear of
consequences following honest and intimate revelation.
The poem begins with the speaker inviting the reader on a journey, which appears to be both
symbolic and literal. Eliot skilfully establishes a seedy urban setting which immediately feels
rather confining. In a brilliant simile, Eliot compares the evening sky to a patient ‘etherized
upon a table’. This bizarre and somewhat disturbing image is an early indication of the
paralysation of the protagonist- Prufrock is immobilised by his own inaction. He establishes
the anti-aesthetic detail that will characterise the poem early on- the mentions of ‘one-night
cheap hotels’ and ‘sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells’ are not attractive images. Themes
of alienation and isolation also emerge, as well as one of the poem’s central themes: stifled
communication. He describes the ‘muttering’ he hears as he makes his journey through the
streets. The reference to ‘restless nights’ in cheap hotels is a possible allusion to sex work and
it is possible that we are walking through the city’s Red Light District. As we continue our
journey with the speaker, we realise that it is more than a physical one- we are being led to ‘an
overwhelming’ question. Rather than tell us what this question is, Prufrock urges us to resist
asking him. Instead, we continue on our journey.
The rhyming couplet which follows appears random and indicates the fragmentary style of the
poem. In the context of the poem, however, it makes sense. Prufrock tells us ‘in the room the

15
women come and go, talking of Michelangelo.’ The subject matter, Italian High Renaissance
art, appears to be a suitable topic for middle class women to discuss but it also seems rather
pretentious and shallow as they ‘come and go’ from a room, potentially at a party. It is also
notable that Prufrock notices just the women and indeed does not interact with them. He will
repeat this couplet later on, which betrays the mononotony of this society.
In lines 15-22, Eliot uses wonderful feline imagery to describe the urban fog. Although the fog
is described as ‘yellow’, there is something almost comforting about the image as the fog
‘curled once about the house and fell asleep.’ Once more, the imagery contributes wonderfully
to the overall urban atmosphere.

Eliot follows this stanza with the statement ‘there will be time.’ This is in fact a literary
reference to a poem entitled ‘To His Coy Mistress’ by Andrew Marvell. In the poem, a man is
aiming to convince a woman to have sex with him but she is being rather coy. Marvell’s
speaker is saying that if they had infinite time, it would be acceptable to be coy, but they do
not, so it isn’t. Prufrock, however, is repeating to himself that there is indeed time for him to
ask his question (he repeats the phrase as though he is trying to convince himself). It is worth
noting that this statement follows an entire stanza that describes the fog- Prufrock isn’t
exactly in a rush to ask his ‘overwhelming question’. The allusion to Marvell’s poem is also a
significant hint: is Prufrock’s question a proposition to a woman?
Prufrock next tells us that ‘there will be time…to prepare a face to meet the faces that you
meet.’ Once more, this reveals to us the disingenuous nature of this society- the public
persona is markedly different to the private and requires effort to socialise according to the
etiquette of the time. In another literary allusion, Prufrock refers to the ‘works and days of
hands.’ ‘Works and Days’ is a poem by the Greek poet Hesiod which stresses the importance of
hard work and the avoidance of a lazy, pointless life. Eliot is reinforcing to us the banality and
meaninglessness of Prufrock’s life. There is indeed time for Prufrock to agonise over and
revise his question, as he states himself, ‘before the taking of a toast and tea.’ The word toast
here has two meanings: it refers to both food and the act of making a toast. Both this and the
mention of tea remind us of Prufrock’s upper class life, which is characterised by repetition in
the form of meaningless social gatherings.
Indeed, Prufrock is paranoid that the people he socialises with gossip about him.He appears
to be concerned about his reputation (a lovely call-back to the epigraph) He is still agonising
about asking his question, repeating the phrase ‘do I dare?’ but he imagines he will instead
‘turn back and descend the stair’. Prufrock is well-dressed in a morning coat and necktie but
he imagines the other people in the room will comment negatively on his appearance, stating
that his ‘hair is growing thin’ as well as his ‘arms and legs.’ The disembodiment of Prufrock
and the people who observe him is rather unsettling. He describes the ‘eyes’ that fix him ‘in a
formulated phrase.’ He feels trapped and vulnerable, as he describes feeling like he is

16
‘sprawling on a pin’ and ‘pinned and wriggling on the wall.’ This reminds us of the opening
simile, as Prufrock is completely paralysed by social anxiety. Prufrock feels completely
restricted by what he perceives as constant observance and judgement. If his life is so
restrictive and repetitive, he wonders, how is he possibly going to change? For him, this
question will ‘disturb the universe.’ To us, this appears to be a rather hyperbolic statement,
but in Prufrock’s world, any deviation from the socially accepted norm is potentially
humiliating.
The minutiae of his life is once more reinforced as he describes his ‘evenings, mornings,
afternoons’ and he tells us that he has ‘measured out (his) life with coffee spoons.’ The themes
of isolation and alienation are also once more reinforced in this stanza, as Prufrock describes
the ‘voices dying with a dying fall beneath the music from a farther room.’ It seems that he is
completely detached and separate from the people around him, whom he only references in
terms of their constituent body-parts.

He includes anti-aesthetic detail to convey the tedium of his life, which he describes as the
‘butt-ends of (his) days and ways.’ Prufrock continues to disembody the people who surround
him, though this time it is womens’ arms that distract him. He describes them as ‘bracleted
and white and bare’, which once more reminds us of their high-status. He adds that in the
lamplight, they are ‘downed with light brown hair.’ It is worth noting that Prufrock clearly
pays a lot of attention to these womens’ arms, possibly because he is uncomfortable making
eye contact (although he is conscious of their eyes on him). Once more, this suggests to us that
his ‘overwhelming question’ has something to do with a woman, as he appears wholly
preoccupied with the women in the poem. Prufrock acknowledges this himself in the
following line, as he muses ‘is it perfume from a dress that makes me so digress?’
He continues to agonise over his question- now he wonders how he should open the
conversation with the person he intends to ask the question to. He wonders if he should tell
them that he has wandered through the streets at dusk and ‘watched the smoke that rises
from the pipes of lonely men in shirt sleeves leaning out of windows’. The reference to lonely
men is interesting, it is possible that Prufrock is alluding to lonely men as he himself identifies
with them but does not want to end up that way and is therefore making some sort of
proposition. He does not, however, finish this train of thought, as he once more digresses,
although he chastises himself for doing so with a rather self-loathing statement. Prufrock is
entirely aware of his inability to act, and states that he should have been a ‘pair of ragged
claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas.’ Once more, the disembodied image is
unsettling and it is clear that Prufrock is struggling with deep feelings of insecurity and
inadequacy. The sibilance present in this statement echoes the silence which permeates the
line: Prufrock feels he should have been something that ‘scuttles’ awkwardly deep down on
the ocean floor, far removed from society.

17
Prufrock continues to describe the tedium of his life through ‘tea and cakes and ices’ although
this is contrasted by his agonised uncertainty as he describes how he has ‘wept and fasted,
wept and prayed’. He also alludes to the biblical narrative of John the Baptist, who was
beheaded and served to Salome on a platter after she specifically requested it. Prufrock sees
his question as a potentially similar humiliation.
Prufrock feels that his best days are behind him, and that the ‘eternal footman’, will ‘snicker’
at him when he dies. In an unusually concise statement, he admits to being ‘afraid.’

Interestingly, Prufrock now changes tenses and it appears that he has passed up on the
opportunity to ask his question as he wonders ‘would it have been worth it…’ There are more
references to his upper class life, characterised by ‘cups’, ‘marmalade’, ‘tea’ and ‘porcelain’. He
wonders if he had ‘squeezed the universe into a ball’ and asked his question, would he regret
it. He knows that there is no possible way of knowing this, just like it is not possible to return
from the dead to speak about the afterlife, like Lazurus whom he alludes to, or the sinner in
the epigraph. Instead, he imagines that if he had asked the woman his question, she may have
reacted rather negatively by stating that he misinterpreted her motives. It is possible that
Prufrock feels a woman he is attracted to is encouraging him to make romantic advances but
he is terrified that he is misinterpreting the signals and imagines that this is what she will
inevitably tell him: ‘that is not what I meant at all, that is not it, at all.’ The following stanza is
similar in that Prufrock once more describes the minutiae of his life in terms of ‘novels…
teacups…skirts that trail along the floor’ but he becomes rather frustrated with himself and
states ‘it is impossible to say just what I mean.’ He once more imagines the humiliation of
revealing his innermost thoughts to this woman (which he likens to his nerves being projected
in patterns on a magic lantern) only to be rejected. The theme of poor communication will
recur throughout Eliot’s poetry and is indeed in full view here. Prufrock feels he may have
misinterpreted the woman, and he himself struggles to articulate his feelings. Indeed, we
never learn the contents of the question he is agonising over.
As the poem comes to a close, Prufrock acknowledges that he is ‘not Prince Hamlet.’ Although
Hamlet also procrastinated and agonised over decisions, he is the central character of the
play. Prufrock does not even view himself as a central character in his own life. He is ‘an
attendant lord’, a character possibly not even worthy of a name and who appears for only a
brief time, possibly to begin a scene. He is ‘deferential, glad to be of use’ but is not considered
important. Prufrock reveals admirable self-awareness as he states he is ‘full of high sentence
but a bit obtuse’ and we have no choice but to agree- the poem reveals a man who although
educated and cultured is ineffectual and pretentious. He sees himself as ‘the Fool’ (possibly
Polonius). As we approach the end of the poem, it appears that Prufrock has accepted his
failure to ask the question.

18
Indeed, the questions which he poses for the remainder of the poem appear rather foolish and
unimportant by comparison. He wonders if he should dare to ‘part (his) hair behind’ or ‘eat a
peach.’ Prufrock feels that eating a peach could be potentially embarrassing, as it is a soft and
moist fruit and could make him appear messy or sloppy, although it could also have sexual
connotations. The poem ends with a rather dream-like sequence and it appears that he is
escaping from his uncomfortable reality. The women of his world are replaced by ‘mermaids’
and ‘sea-girls’ but even here, he states ‘I do not think that they will sing to me.’ He is pulled
out of this reverie by the ‘human voices’ which surround him. For Prufrock, there is no
escaping his tedious, routined life.

In ‘Aunt Helen’, Eliot expresses similar themes of stifled communication, isolation and the
tedium caused by the routine of an upper class existence. Similar to Prufrock, the speaker of
the poem appears rather detached and emotionless. While it is his Aunt who died, he does not
express any form of sadness. She remained a single, childless woman and when she passed
‘there was silence in heaven and silence at the end of the street.’ This is possibly a kind of
deferential silence, but it is more likely an expression of proper and appropriate behaviour in
an upper-class area that is devoid of any real feelings of sadness. There is no strong emotion
expressed by anyone in her life. Aunt Helen lived a comfortable life near a ‘fashionable square’
and was ‘cared for by servants to the number of four.’ The speaker describes the events
following her death: ‘the shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet’. Even in
death, Eliot stresses the importance of etiquette. Her death is a private matter and so the
shutters deter nosy neighbours. The undertaker remembers to wipe his feet as he enters her
home, though he is merely going about his job. The speaker tells us that her dogs were
‘handsomely provided for’ and that ‘shortly afterwards the parrot died too.’ Aunt Helen clearly
had a close relationship with her pets. It is significant that she kept a parrot, a bird known for
mimicking human speech, and it is possible that the bird and Aunt Helen spoke to one
another. Without its companion, the parrot has no reason to live. The speaker speaks about
his aunt and the parrot in an equally detached tone. Following her death, life continued as the
‘Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantlepeice.’ The poem ends with a description of
Aunt Helen’s ‘second housemaid’ sitting on the knee of her footman. The fact that Aunt Helen
numbered her housemaids reveals to us the rigid structure of her household. Now that she is
gone, her servants can behave rather inappropriately, something Helen would have
disapproved of. Their behaviour, in the context of the poem and its society, is rather shocking
and conveys to us their indifference to their mistress’s death. Similarly to Prufrock, the poem
conveys a restrictive and etiquette-driven society that causes isolation and detachment.

19
II A Game of Chess is taken from Eliot’s poem The Wasteland. The title itself is taken from two
plays written by playwright Thomas Middleton in the seventeenth century in which moves in a
game of chess represent the stages of seduction. It is perhaps Eliot’s most stylistically
experimental poem. It opens with a description of the surroundings of an upper class woman,
who sits on a ‘burnished throne’, a reference taken from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra
to signify this woman’s high status. She is surrounded by incredibly ornate decorations and
jewels such as ‘a sevenbranched candelabra.’ There is something sinister and excessive about
the space however, which lends an almost threatening tone to this section. Her ‘strange
synthetic perfumes…troubled, confused and drowned the sense in odours’. On the ceiling
reflects a ‘sad light’ in which a ‘carved dolphin swam.’ The speaker also describes ‘other
withered stumps of time’ as ‘staring forms leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.’
The carvings in the room are portrayed as invasive and excessive. Perhaps the most significant
piece of art in the room is ‘The Change of Philomela.’ This is an allusion to Ovid’s
Metamorphoses, which tells the tale of Philomela, a woman who is raped by her sister’s
husband, the King. To deter her from revealing his brutality, he cuts out her tongue. With her
sister, Philomela plots revenge and feeds the King’s son to him without him knowing. She is
then transformed into a nightingale. As stifled communication is such a prominent theme in
Eliot’s poetry, it is no mystery as to why he alludes to this tragic tale. Even as a bird,
Philomela’s song is heard as ‘jug jug to dirty ears’. The woman in this part of the poem feels
misunderstood. As someone approaches, her long hair ‘spread out in fiery points’ as it is not
styled and this almost serves as a form of self-expression as it ‘glowed into words’ but not
quite- it becomes ‘savagely still.’ The form of the poem begins to disintegrate as the woman
desperately questions her lover. She informs him that her ‘nerves are bad tonight.’ She
desperately attempts to get him to communicate with her, asking him ‘why do you never
speak?’ and ‘What are you thinking of?’ The man (assumed to be the speaker) replies with the
rather morbid statement ‘I think we are in rats’ alley where the dead men lost their bones’.
This statement contrasts significantly with the ornately furnished room they are in and is a
possible reference to the trenches of the First World War, which was one of the central causes
of the emergence of modernist poetry. The woman remains agitated and nervous, asking
‘What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?’ The man’s reply (‘nothing again nothing’) is
interesting. In one sense, it serves to attempt to comfort his lover but it also reinforces the
nihilistic tone of the poem. The man appears subdued, as the woman comments ‘Are you alive,
or not? Is there nothing in your head?’ Eliot then references a contemporary jazz song, as the
woman feels that is all the man thinks about. She threatens to leave the house and ‘walk the
street with (her) hair down’ but she refrains from doing so. Once more, repression and
restraint are brought to the fore. In this sense, the woman is rather reminiscent of Prufrock.
This section of the poem ends with a similarly tedious routine to Prufrock’s- the speaker
describes the monotony of their day as they ‘play a game of chess, pressing lidless eyes and

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waiting for a knock upon the door.’ This knock may symbolise death- like Prufrock, this cycle
will continue until the lovers die.

There is a significant contrast between the first section and the second section of the poem.
The second part of the poem takes place in a working class London pub and recounts a
conversation between a woman and her friends as she in turn shares a conversation she had
with her friend Lil. While the barman urges the patrons to finish their drinks by shouting
‘HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME’, the woman states that she advised Lil to ‘make (herself) a bit
smart’ and to ‘get (herself) some teeth.’ The woman feels that Lil’s husband, Albert, will be
tempted by other women if Lil doesn’t fix her increasingly ragged appearance. Lil tells her
that the reason for her haggard appearance is the pills she took to ‘bring it off’, a slang term
for an abortion. Lil has had five children by Albert and clearly does not want more. Since
taking the pills, she confesses that she has ‘never been the same.’ The woman recounting the
tale states that Albert ‘won’t leave (Lil) alone’. This overtly sexual image contrasts sharply with
the repressed sexuality of the woman in the opening part of the poem, although the
implications of forced sexual activity permeate both sections of the poem. The woman does
not entirely finish her story, as the patrons are forced to leave the pub at closing time.
While the first half of the poem is replete with cultural references and descriptions of
expensive decorations, this part of the poem is markedly plain and rather crude by
comparison. This contrast is also reflected in the different language used in both sections. The
opening section begins in iambic pentameter, which reflects the artistic and cultural
references surrounding the woman. Imabic pentameter is often used by Shakespeare to
denote characters who are well-spoken and educated. As the verse develops, however, the
iambic pentameter disintegrates, reflecting the increasingly erratic mood of the woman and
the stifled communication that exists between her and her lover. The second part of the poem
contains no iambic pentameter, as the woman speaking in the pub is from a different social
background and instead speaks in the vernacular of the working class. Despite this, Eliot does
allude to Shakespeare, closing the poem with a reference to Ophelia in Hamlet (‘good night
ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night’). Ophelia, like Cleopatra who was
alluded to in the opening lines, also died by suicide. This connects our two female characters
in the poem, even if they exist in completely different social classes.

Preludes, much like Eliot’s other poetry, also critiques the alienation caused by modern urban
life. The poem consists of a series of vignettes which represent the different times of day in a
cityscape. The first prelude opens with a pathetic fallacy, as the speaker states that the
‘winter evening settles down’. He describes ‘the smell of steaks in passageways’ as people
prepare for dinner. We are given an exact time: it is six o’clock. The verse becomes
progressively more full of anti-aesthetic detail as Eliot describes ‘the burnt-out ends of smoky

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days.’ This quote is reminiscent of Prufrock’s reference to the ‘butt-ends of (his) days and
ways.’ The city’s inhabitants are tired or ‘burnt out’ but it is also, of course, a reference to
smoking as well as to the smoke from factories commonly associated with England’s
industrial cities. Signs of decay abound, as he describes how the rain ‘wraps the grimy scraps
of withered leaves about your feet’. By using the second person narrative, we are being directly
drawn into this ugly urban setting. The atompshere is one of decay, waste and loneliness as he
describes ‘vacant lots’ and ‘broken blinds and chimney pots.’ As the lamps are lit, ‘a lonely
cab-horse steams and stamps.’ The sibilant sounds which occur throughout prelude 1 add to
the sinister tone of the poem, as the observer watches the cities inhabitants from afar.
The second prelude is brief and details the city in the morning. It is no less unattractive, and
once more Eliot utilises pathetic fallacy to describe it as it ‘comes to consciousness.’ There are
‘faint stale smells of beer’ from the night before. The reference to the ‘sawdust-trampled
street reminds us of the sawdust floors in Prufrock and the word ‘trampled’ suggests a large
population that rushes about with their ‘muddy feet.’ In a style typical of Eliot, the city’s
population are referred to here by their ‘feet’ and ‘hands’, a technique known as synecdoche.
They are ‘masquerades’, never quite revealing their true selves to one another. The feet rush to
work as the hands raise ‘dingy shades in a thousand furnished rooms.’ Once more, we are
reminded of the widespread poverty that exists in urban settings as the reference is to ‘rooms’
and not houses. With the lifting of these shades, we are given a glimpse into the lives of these
people, and inside is no less unnattractive than outside.
Prelude III appears to be addressed directly to a woman, more than likely a prostitute. She
tosses her blanket from her bed as she ‘lay upon (her) back and waited’. As she dozes, she
‘watches the night revealing the thousand sordid images of which (her) soul was constituted.’
Here, the speaker is saying that the woman relives her debased existence as she watched the
images of her actions as they ‘flickered against the ceiling’. These ‘sordid images’ are the
contents of this woman’s soul. In the morning, she hears the ‘sparrows in the gutters.’ This
isn’t a particularly pleasant image, as the word ‘gutters’ debases the beauty of the sparrow
image. The speaker feels that this woman, though living a ‘sordid’ existence, has a deep,
almost spiritual connection with the city as she ‘had such a vision of the street as they street
hardly understands.’ Here, the street represents the entirety of the world and through her
work, the woman meets all kinds of people. She repeats the same cycle again and again, and
therefore, meets many of the city’s inhabitants, thus providing her with a deeper insight into
urban life. As she sits on the edge of the bed, she removes the curling papers from her hair, a
nice reference to the newspapers in the first prelude and another reminder of this woman’s
lowly social status. The last two lines of this prelude are interesting, as the speaker writes ‘...or
clasped the yellow soles of feet in the palms of both soiled hands.’ This is a particularly
unattractive image and it is worth noting that Eliot does not refer to the feet as necessarily
belonging to the woman. Consequently, it can be assumed that these feet represent her

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numerous clients (Eliot has already used synecdoche to refer to the repeated trampling of the
street each morning). These yellowed feet could refer to the men who visit this woman. It is
also worth noting that he once more refers to hands, this time calling them ‘soiled.’ While this
woman makes an attempt to appear more attractive by curling her hair, her work debases her
in the eyes of the speaker.
Prelude IV is written in the third person and introduces us to a male character whose soul is
stretched across the evening sky (reminiscent of the opening lines of Prufrock). The image of
‘his soul stretched tight across the skies’ is also reminiscent of the crucifixion and it is
possible that Eliot feels that spirituality and urban settings are incompatible as he states the
soul in the skies ‘fade behind a city block.’ It is also ‘trampled by insistent feet’ as people
return home from work to smoke their pipes and read newspapers. The image of pipe
smoking is presented as rather unflattering as the speaker describes ‘short square fingers
stuffing pipes.’ Once more, we are reminded of the smoke present in Prelude I. The
newspaper motif returns once more, as ‘eyes’ read these papers ‘assured of certain
certainties.’ Perhaps these eyes are reading stories of crime and tragedy in their city, which
may well be ‘certainties.’ Not only does the soul fade away in the sky, it is also trampled on a
‘blackened street.’ Eliot perhaps feels that city dwellers neglect their Christianity, as
spirituality is either fading from view or being trampled on.
The speaker then speaks directly to us and admits that he is ‘moved by…the notion of some
infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.’ This is a rather mysterious statement, but it is
entirely possible that this is also a religious reference. Perhaps Eliot feels that as ugly as urban
lanscapes are, they are still being guided and protected by God. He ends the poem, however,
on a fairly cynical note. He imagines that you (the reader) will ‘wipe your hand across your
mouth, and laugh’ as the cycle of decay and alienation continues. He states ‘the worlds revolve
like ancient women gathering fuel in vacant lots’. This rather nihilistic image reminds us of
the arduous and continued struggle of the working class and indeed, of women. In a modern
world, beset by industrialisation and capitalism, this struggle will continue.

Name of Poem Prufrock Aunt Helen A Game of Preludes

Chess

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Themes Urban Decay Class Urban Decay Class
Alienation Death Alienation Stifled
Inaction Stifled Christianity Communication
Class Communication/ Gender
Stifled Gender
Etiquette Nihilism
Communication

Stylistic Monologue Elegy Fragmented Fragmented

Features Fragmented Simple, concise First, Second, Literary
Literary language to Third Person Allusions
Allusions convey Narrative Dialogue
Stream of emotional Synecdoche Vernacular
Consciousness detachment Pathetic Fallacy Speech
Literary
Allusions
Contrast

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