I first read T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” during one of my passes through University of Maryland, College Park. It would have been back in the late 80/early 90s, back when they were still letting people like me attend, so figure I couldn’t have been older than 30, max.
I don’t care how smart or sensitive you are, you will not feel “Prufrock” in your soul until you’ve let a few ground-balls go between your legs.
I feel it today, half-way to 90, and I’ve felt it a lot more since being here in The Land of People under 30.
And yet, I have reasons not to feel it too awfully sharp.
Here’s one:
And if you’re wondering what the hell the Italian prelude from Dante’s “Inferno” says, here’s one translation:
“If I thought my answer were given
to anyone who would ever return to the world,
this flame would stand still without moving any further.
But since never from this abyss
has anyone ever returned alive, if what I hear is true,
without fear of infamy I answer you.”
Dante wrote before YouTube and the Department of Homeland Security.
