My Favourite Poems – No.1 (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock)

I’ve reviewed a lot of films and books on here but I wanted to start a series annotating my favourite poems and had to start with T.S Eliot. Hope you enjoy and don’t forget to like and follow 🙂

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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.

I love this poem. A lot. It had some beautiful imagery in it that just captures you as a reader. The Poem is full of questions and indeed there will be time to wonder “do I dare disturb the universe”

At the start of the poem, we can really picture the streets he is telling us about

 Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

We wonder who he is going with if there is some romantic partner he is talking about or if it just the reader. The writer uses the word choice of “certain” which is obscure as for most of the poem he is doubtful.

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,

The writer uses personification effectively here “licked its tongue into the corners of the evening” this gives the night a mysterious feel.

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,

The writer uses the repetition “there will be time , there will be time” he is almost reassuring himself and is aware of his mortality.

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;

Again the writer uses the repetition in the first line. He is almost looking back on his life and the monotony of it , he is apathetic and sees his actions as meaningless.   

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,

He is questioning the reader and the quality of his life. He questions the daily activities he undertakes and if they have any point.

  Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;

               That is not it, at all.”

I love this line in the poem. The writer is timid , perhaps In  his life and work he has been seen as arrogant or pretentious and this line shows that he has been misunderstood.

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

This supports this point the author is devaluing himself and his life and work by calling himself ridiculous and almost at times “The fool”

Till human voices wake us, and we drown

The last line of the poem is so emotional it is not happy or positive , it makes life and the end of life seem bitter and helpless. It seems like the author is so caught up in his fantasies , setting and daily activities at the end he romanticizes walking along a beach and eating a peach  and in the last line he almost wakes up to cold reality and drowns in it.

Why I write ?

Why I write?

40,848 Pen And Ink Illustrations & Clip Art - iStock

I’m not sure exactly why I Write , I suppose before you write stories you read them. As a child I devoured books I would literally start reading as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning. I enjoyed it so much. I wanted to put my mark on the world and like the amazing authors I read , I wanted readers not just be entertained but to see something through the eyes of the writer. Me. I owe a lot of my talent (if I can call it that without sounding too arrogant) To my grandparents my gran would read the wishing chair to me as a child and it would take me off to another world. I think there’s something different about reading and writing as a child. My talent wasn’t really discovered until secondary school after it had been nurtured for eleven years or so through the education system. I also liked to write my own stories in my spare time , I remember as an early teen I got more into young adult fiction and liked thrillers. I would write stories about kidnappings and bizarre things like that.

 I left school prematurely and grew very depressed this is when I started writing poetry. I remember finding a thin paper back book of T.S Eliot poems in my family’s loft and running through to my mum to tell her how amazing they were. Poetry I found a lot easier to read and write. My first poem was called Lang Town which is near where I live. I started to write about things around me which at that point and I suppose still is poverty. I would write about bus stations and dreary things like that. The characters I suppose had my voice but lucky for me I don’t live in a damp run down flat like the protagonist in my story.

Writing is a very personal act you are basically turning out your soul for others to read and scrutinize. I suppose we all want to live forever and a good poem or book is the closest thing we have to it. We don’t know what it was like to live one hundred years ago but through some of the great writers we can have some understanding of how they lived. I write to change people’s perspectives and make my mark on the world. That is why I write.

Witch Poem Analysis

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Burn the Witch! - TV Tropes

I found this really interesting poem on Pinterest and thought it would be interesting to look at on the run up to Halloween. The poet is really talented and captures the woman fear and the crowds hostility very well. In the third paragraph it talks about the womans eyes being “terror wild”

The crowd seems to hate the “witch” one woman damming her and another throwing a rock at her.

In the third paragraph the writer shows her innocence stating “she was a slight and commonly maid no smaller than a child” this makes the action of burning her seem like a horrific and unjustified act.

The writers last lines in the poem are especially haunting “beneath the sudden rain she set her mark upon the throng for time can not erase the echo of her anguished cries , the memory of her face” This shows that she will never be at peace and has made her mark on the world and society and the action wont ever be repeated.

Epistle To Hugh Parker Analysis

Hey Guys So I’m on the road to 500 followers so if your new It would mean a lot of you hit the follow button thanks.

Robert Burns - Wikipedia
 
IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne’er cross’t the Muse’s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:
A land that Prose did never view it,        5
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it—for in vain I leuk.        10
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;
For life and spunk like ither Christians,        15
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
Dowie she saunters down Nithside,        20
And aye a westlin leuk she throws,
While tears hap o’er her auld brown nose!
Was it for this, wi’ cannie care,
Thou bure the Bard through many a shire?
At howes, or hillocks never stumbled,        25
And late or early never grumbled?—
O had I power like inclination,
I’d heeze thee up a constellation,
To canter with the Sagitarre,
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar;        30
Or turn the pole like any arrow;
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow,
Down the zodiac urge the race,
And cast dirt on his godship’s face;
For I could lay my bread and kail        35
He’d ne’er cast saut upo’ thy tail.—
Wi’ a’ this care and a’ this grief,
And sma’, sma’ prospect of relief,
And nought but peat reek i’ my head,
How can I write what ye can read?—        40
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o’ June,
Ye’ll find me in a better tune;
But till we meet and weet our whistle,
Tak this excuse for nae epistle.

Analysis : Part 1

IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne’er cross’t the Muse’s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:   I love the opening to this poem it’s so poignant and

Captivating. I think the first line expresses confusion with the words in this strange land. A land unkown to prose or rhyme. I think this is symbolic of the isolation burn feels as a poor writer not many can relate to him. Also perhaps its symbolic of society’s ignorance whither its to do with illiteracy at the time or poverty that blights Scotland. “Where words no’er cross’t the muses heckles Nor limpit in poetic shackles.” This shows that burns feels trapped perhaps by his situation and lack of money but also by his gift for the written word.

A land that Prose did never view it,
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,

“A land that Prose did never view it.” I think this expresses burns frustration that although he is one of the most gifted writers in history he still cant capture all that he wants to. Except when drunk he stachert thro it. This reveals what burns sees the drunks of the streets and perhaps his own battle with drink. Here ambush’d by the chimla cheek. Hid in an atmosphere of reek. This shows what the city was dirty at the time and covered in reek.

I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it—for in vain I leuk.
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;     In this stanza what stands out to me is the line “k
For in vain I leuk. This suggests that Burns perhaps feels guilty about his

 Fame and talent.

“The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel Enhusked by a fog infernal. These lines are symbolic of heat and perhaps the devil or anger, burns maybe feels like the Devil. “Here , for my wonted rhyming raptures I sit and count my sins by chapters.” He feels guilty about his gift perhaps because of his position in society and the fame and talent he has.

For life and spunk like ither Christians,
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!

In this stanza he is in conflict with himself and his religion , he admits he’s not a very good Christian maybe because his love of drink or sex. “Im dwindled down to mere existence “here he feels that society does not value his talent and he is merely living a pointless life that wont amount to much.

Like a candle

Poetry is great

Poetry is grand

Almost like a soup that you pour out of a can.

I tell them no! but they don’t understand

Weighing out problems by the gram.

Forever eternally dammed.

Can I be held accountable?

Can anyone

As we slyly manipulate the young

Cruel bitter words on the tip of our tongs.

This life is breaking me bit by bit

Ticking days rolling in like mist.

Like a candle that’s already been lit

Go ahead burn all of it!  

We begged for some bread  

While you bathed in wine.

You stole all that was mine!

Scotland’s Shame

Scotland’s Shame 
There are children jumping in front of trains , and grown men throwing bricks through window panes.
An old woman drowning out her sorrow by voting for the devils of tomorrow.

There are qualified girls lining up for food , and young boys disguising their face with a hood.
Polite ladies burning up my book , whilst their dearest darlings get up to no good. Kicking the life out of a man until his lips turn to blue.

For I have seen your likes before , I have already chapped this door and ran away I never stay. In the dark I stiffly lay.

For they are you and they are me. Scotland’s shame to the highest degree.
Sentence me with immortality.

You are people in textbooks no more , which teenagers think are just a bore.

For we have slept here before.

Then I Grew

I wake screaming in the night

God’s grip around me hard and tight.

As blackie watches from the windowsill

Oh I wish, I pray I could see him still.

But I am blind and I am bitter

I sit and wait for the harsh winter.

 

If only he could see me now

His frown a downturned smile

of victory

oh not oh not for me

 

For here I sit and slowly decay.

I cough and splutter in the rain

grow restless at the passing days.

 

As a child, I thought you were the only one.

Oh pretty blackbird

but as I grew

I looked and knew that there were many of you.

 

Yet still I glance through the windowpane

Stained with dirt and grit and fingerprints of many.

I think of you

oh pretty blackbird

The true love I only knew

but then I grew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Is Happiness So Hard To Find In Art?

She said It was depressing, but then life always was a bitter lesson. 

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Why is happiness so hard to find in art? Was a question that plagued my mind today. Maybe its because we’re all miserable cows or perhaps its because most adults don’t relate to tales about happy, content little bunny rabbits.

As a child, I was as joyful as most but as I grew I became more withdrawn and well.  Depressed. Neurosis plagued me from a young age. Whenever we played piggy in the middle I was always the piggy who could never catch any of my friends. In team sports, I was always last to be picked. At playtime, my peers always had better biscuits and would never share with me. Bitter resentment grew in me towards life. I wanted an answer. I wanted the truth. Books were a source of escapism for me. As cliche as it sounds, I was the book worm of the class. Yet I wouldn’t say this made me the smartest. I still struggled with figures and somehow my reports never got a place on that wall, nor did I get into the final of the scots verse team despite having a passion for burns from a young age. I can still recite Epistle To Hugh parker word for word a poem that was forgotten and pushed into the shadows by most.

In high school, it seemed my anxiety came to a peak. Out of the hundreds of young adults, I struggled to find friends. Yet this wasn’t a place you wanted to be associated with books at lunchtimes, or at least not in my school. At break times I would line up in the dinner card que only for the single reason not to look like a loner. I cared too much about what people thought, but don’t we all?

However back to the question at hand. Why is art so depressing. Or why are artists so depressing. Why did Plath put her head in an oven, why did Van Gough paint beautiful flowers and then chop off his ear and then later blow out his brains? Why are we all so mental? Is it because life is mental, do we deep down need a reason as to why we exist? Why did Stalin and Hitler kill millions? Why did Andrew Carnegie exploit his workers despite growing up poor, why did burns preach about freedom then desire to be a slave driver? Why? Why? Why? We Ask. I wish I could give you an answer. Pain, money, hate, emptiness, mental illness. Death.

I think my opinion is that we need art to give us a reason to live. We see ourselves through others. It gives us meaning. Perhaps it’s not that art is depressing, maybe it’s just too close to the truth.

Ten Things Ive learned In my 19 Years

 

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1.sometimes people are wrong. Wither its your parents or proffesionals sometimes it better just not to listen.

2.Stay In School No matter how hard it gets. When people say you’l regret it you honestly will. Dont give in to opression. As the quote goes education is our greatest weapon.

3 Avoid psyciatric hospitals at all costs. You know when you hear about writers being depressed its kinda a sterotype.Honestly being admited to hospital  will make your health so much worse as no one wants to be degraded and treated like shit the way they do in hospital.

4.Its ok not to be ok-  Sometimes you have to give yourself a break. No ones perfect and you probably are doing your best. Minus the breakdown.

5.Remember who the real enemy is – You may have had a bad experience in life that turns you bitter. You may look for someone to blame your family , your friends , yourself. You have to remember that its not these peoples fault. Its just the fascist society we live in. If anything its moneys fault because the world revolves around it.

6.Go easy on the chocolate – As nice as it is. You will gain weight.

7.Smoking isnt always bad – All you see over the packets of ciggerettes are warnings not to do it. Honestly though I think smoking has helped me. It helps mask panic attacks , gets me to go outside more which elievates depression , helps me mentain my weight and can be used as inspiration. Most of my ideas for poems and prose pieces have happend over a fag. To be honest I wish Ide started it sooner.

8.Its hard being a young woman – I know. Its hard being a woman. Its hard being second best. If your poor and a woman its hard being like 10th best. Try and do things that empower you and help convince you your not just scum of the earth. Read books by female authors watch films with female actresses , listen to music sung by females. Go to clubs with other woman. Just know that we all feel the same.

9.ts Natural to worry about the future – Will I ever get a job? Will I be a bad mother? Will my partner leave me ? Its natural

10.Dont let other people bring you down – This kinda ties into my first suggestion. Dont listen to nasty people. Dont listen when your called a bum , dont let it get to you when people at the Job centre look down their snots at you. You are great, you are you!!!