The first poem that anybody reads who must read something by T. S. Eliot—I think of high school teenagers—is “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Perhaps, like those who first read it, the poem is young. Many people love it. Its Michelangelo couplet, twice said, is like an echo; and like A thing of beauty is a joy forever or And miles to go before I sleep it is so well known it is, not unlike the air we breathe, ubiquitous. There are other poems by Eliot I would much rather read, and do. That said, though sad, it is a fun poem too full of sound and imagery; those mermaids at the end are great, and if they are not singing for Prufrock, well, it’s his own damn fault, isn’t it? Enjoy
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