t.s. eliot & tv

[lickmyboot]

Okay...anyone else watching Push, Nevada the mystery show on TV? I found it interesting that the lead character's name is James A. Prufrock. As in T. S. Eliot's "Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufock". It made me go reread it. Great poem...any other addicts out there?

 

[karmadog]

Not me, but did you see 'The Simpsons' when Robert Pinsky guest voiced? Bizarre.

 

[Angeline]

I Don't Know the Show

some years back, my children just ran roughshod over me--as often is their wont--and overtook the TV. Since then, I almost never watch. (Except for brief summer flings with Nick at Night)

It turned out to be a good thing, especially the not watching the news part.

But TS Eliot, I love, and Prufrock--well he's a complicated, constipated, indecisive, etc., etc., kinda guy isn't he? And yet, the poem is--in my opinion--one of the most beautiful in the English language. So here it is.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S'io credessi che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria senza pi scosse.
Ma per ci che giammai di questo fondo
non torn 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 etherised 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
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!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute win 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?

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,
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
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.


I've thought about this poem alot since I first studied it in college. Sometimes I think you could take almost any line from it and write a poem based on it or starting with it. That might be an interesting challenge.

Oh and one more thing. Isn't that section about the yellow smoke incredible? What a metaphor!

 

[karmadog]

Thanks, Ange. I had never read that before. I am so fucking ignorant. There were things in there that I had seen quoted before (all unaware that they were quotes. what an idiot):

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

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

Do I dare to eat a peach?

And then babelfish was down so I couldn't get that first bit translated. I really need to become a linguist or something so I don't need the net to read.

 

[lickmyboot]

Hey Angeline!

Thanks for posting the poem! I was going to and all of the sudden thunder and lightening out of nowhere this morning. Does not mix well with posting, needless to say. I was going to do it when I got home, but you beat me to the punch!

Anyway, I love the directional changes in this poem. It almost seems like passing seasons, but all interconnected. I haven't read this one since college and I'm glad it's been revisited.

Kdawg..babelfishes? You always make me smile! I think it's your freakin' adorable avatar or maybe penchant for mustached women. I can't decide. How's the bar this week?

 

[karmadog]

babelfish is an online translation tool named after the translating fish that one sticks in one's ear enabling one to understand any language (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy--Douglas Adams)

Yeah, I do have a cute AV. I should take a new pic of her. She just got a bath today.

And I think I'm going to go out tonight, so... Who knows? I'm hoping for midgets tonight. Just a little action, don't ya know.

 

[karmadog]

babelfish was back up.

S' I believed that my answer was to person who never returned to the world, this staria flame without devout jolt. But in order us that giammai of this bottom not torn alive some, s' i' I hear the true one, without infamy topic I answer to you.

As you can tell, it doesn't work as well as the actual fish. One thing that can be fun is to translate one of your poems into a different language, then translate into another, then back to English and see what you get. Sort of like a multilanguage game of telephone.

This is my poem Third Floor Shitstorm translated from English to German to French to English. Not very exotic, but there you go.

The third Shitstorm stick
by that karmadog ©,

that on a height as the roles of storm in the wind is,
sucks smoke the drilling of stone of the pores

the lightning of spark draws a thunder

a Co-Leasingnehmer female Screams upper surfaces from tree too high wriggle,
while they are not divided any more of ends

of the finger igniting blue by the light

not fear not of protection
not a heart not of heart
not of Scheisse

loves smoking into the third stick
of a building with two stories

And the original

Third Floor Shitstorm
by karmadog ©

Standing on high as the storm rolls in
Wind sucks smoke from stone hole pores

Sparks lightning feeds thunder

Co-lessee bitch screams Too High
Tree tops wriggle as they split by light

Electric-blue glowing fingertips

No fear no shelter no heart
No soul no love no more

Smoking shit on the third floor
Of a two story building

I don't know where the pundtuation came from, but it might make Perky happy.

 

[karmadog]

PS I particularly like that it changed my sig line to 'that karmadog'. That makes me laugh for some reason.

 

[lickmyboot]

tsk! tsk! that kamadog!

BABELFISH! Holy crapizoid! Zaphod's going to be so mad at me. I guess it's time to revisti the Guide. I wondered why that struck a chord.

Thanks for stumming.

okay...I nominate this line for "Ultimate Poetic Phrase of the Week".....*drumroll*

....*more drumroll*

a Co-Leasingnehmer female Screams upper surfaces from tree too high wriggle!!!

Here's a cheesy biscuit for you!

That line made me snort in a not so ladylike way!

 

[Angeline]

OMG kdoggie

you wrote your own poem parody with babelfish! i must go try it! what fun!

and if it's any consolation to you, I'll give you a list of all my idiocies, which encompasses almost everything that doesn't involve words. Prufrock I know. Algebra? Fugeddaboudid.

and please don't change your AV. I'm sure Ms. Karma is a very pretty girl, but the look of pain on her face in that picture still makes me snicker when I see it.

and lick, i don't live in tornado alley (I'm closer to the man-made disaster areas like 3 mile island and the love canal--and i ain't talking sex), so happy to accomodate!

 

[Angeline]

True Babel!

ok i was so taken with this translation thingie that I put my most popular poem, Dispos-a-Girl, through the wringer at freetranslation.com just to see...

now granted, Dispos-a-Girl is a pretty idiomatic poem, but the results stunned even me! Here's my English version:

Dispos-a-Girl


Hey boys, you like what you see?
Over here, that’s right,
you wanna have me?
I watch y’all stare.
Wanna mess up my hair?
Wanna touch me here?
Make my lip gloss smear?
Wanna send me a note or give me a call,
pick me up just to let me fall?
Maybe push me hard up against the wall,
and get so damn excited you tear my dress?
Yeah, you wanna feel better,
relieve your distress?
Pull my hands up above my head,
throw me down on the cyber bed,
and do it?
Yeah do it, then go away--
catch up with me on another day.
I’m dispos-a-girl,
I’m a backstreet treat.
Wanna pull my hair,
wanna suck my feet?
You can rock me in your secret life,
turn the PC off,
and kiss your wife.

and here's what happens when I translate it to German, then back to English.


Dispos-a-girl

Like Hey boy, you what that you see?
Does over here,
that’s right, you wanna have me?
I view to y’all stiff.
Does Wanna in confusion bring my hair?
Does Wanna touch me here?
Make you greases my lip gloss?
Does Wanna send calls selects me a notice
or me on, me on only that fall to let me?
Do you knock me perhaps hard on against the wall,
and you will have excited tear up so condemned you my clothing?
Do clearly you feel better to wanna,
relieve your need?
Do you pull my hands on over my head,
you throw makes me down on the cyber bed, and it?
Clearly it makes, disappears
overtakes then-with me at another day.
I’m dispos-a-girl,
I’m a rear lane handles.
Does Wanna pull sucks my hair,
wanna my feet?
They can me in your secret life swing,
turns off the PC, and kisses your woman.

Now then.

You know, once you have kids, it's really hard to get rid of those rear lane handles.

And all you er stiff boys stop bringing confusion to my hair!



P.S. And anyone who tries to knock me perhaps hard on against the wall is gonna get a taste of the old right hook!

 

[OT]

what's not to love about disposa girl, but ...

Angeline,

the translated translation is profound.
I like it in a dyslexic sort of way.

O.T.
prose portal

 

[Angeline]

Thank you, OT

Compliments like that will get you the Norwiegan to English translation!

 

[karmadog]

OK, I think we need a babelfish thread. I'm starting one dammit.

 

[Angeline]

Babelfish Thread

Go for it kdog! These translations are just wonderfully funny.

 

[OT]

Compliments like that will get you the Norwiegan to English translation!

freidig ! (cool!)

O.T.
stuff