And all that jazz
With seraphim sat either side, I fall.
The cornucopia blinds my every thought,
Like Prufrock's mermaids' far Euterpean call,
Which teased with its ignoring the distraught
And spell-shocked sometime Fool, who heard the bliss
But could not, would not, see the path toward
The faintest whisper of a naiad's kiss.
'Tis thus to writhe in pain and be ignored.
Too much. Too much. Too late. Too late. The show
Bare half-way through, said seraph quits the room,
Replaced in line of sight by Mephisto,
Who laughs. I seal my pact. He tells my doom.
The last remaining vision starts to fade.
Come midnight bells my soul is past all aid.
The cornucopia blinds my every thought,
Like Prufrock's mermaids' far Euterpean call,
Which teased with its ignoring the distraught
And spell-shocked sometime Fool, who heard the bliss
But could not, would not, see the path toward
The faintest whisper of a naiad's kiss.
'Tis thus to writhe in pain and be ignored.
Too much. Too much. Too late. Too late. The show
Bare half-way through, said seraph quits the room,
Replaced in line of sight by Mephisto,
Who laughs. I seal my pact. He tells my doom.
The last remaining vision starts to fade.
Come midnight bells my soul is past all aid.
6 comments:
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnice!
I did 'Prufrock' for my English Lit. Higher (Scottish 'A' level), it still sends shivers, that first line . . . .
Ah, kanikoski, you do us proud. Hope you survived the day after? You must have done, to have written this poem. Dead man don't write poetry.
PS As you know, I love Prufrock, too.
'Prufrock' is an amazing piece alright. Every year it rings with greater truth.
We have come to a conclusion:
bruce + cornucopius beer = poetry
Ah, the muse comes in many forms....
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