THE ENIGMA OF THE SINGING MERMAIDS

Autumn for me is the season for poetry, both writing and reading;

‘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.        ‘

From ‘The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock’ T S Eliot

I first read those lines above in the autumn. I was 18 years old and was immediately enamoured of Eliot’s poetry, to the extent that someone appraising some of my early efforts said, “It’s a shame you ever read Eliot, for otherwise you have the makings of a reasonable poet.” What he was saying was that I had drunk too deeply of the cup, anything I then produced having TS Eliot stamped through it like a slice of Blackpool rock.

The rest of this post can be read at The Blue Room:-

http://alextalbottheblueroom.blogspot.co.uk/

Having visited this page I would be grateful for your feedback, either tick one of the boxes below or make a comment via the comments button.