Love ? What Love? The Love nervous strain of J. Alfred Prufrock is not a touchst sensation about sexual recognise, at least(prenominal) in any traditional sense. Rather it is a prayer of the fragmented prospects of a homo cosmos without self-esteem. Far from being about experience, it is about one and only(prenominal) mans inability to love (himself or the universe of discourse around him.) It is the misanthropic line of reasoning of a man who does not rec solely good things allow for everlastingly happen to him, or that the world has anything to offer him. The appellation is shrilly ironic; Prufrock does not love any body, least of all himself, (no matter how much he might be subsequently to the ideal of romance and passion), nor does he believe that any one(a) could ever love him. His make life is devoid of love, so in his bitterness he brands his work a love song. Although the poem addresses the indorser directly, saying, Let us go then, you and I, he is really notwithstanding talking to himself. His is a nature of discredit and insecurity that he would never dare wield with another human being. The epigraph diagrammatically illustrates this; begining with a passage from Dantes unredeemed region....
If I thought my reply would be to soul who would ever return to earth, this incinerate would remain without further grounds; barely as no one has ever returned from this gulf, if what I get word is true, I can answer you with no fear of infamy. When one considers the poem in the light of this prologue, one must trance that Prufrock is basically telling the tale of his closing off and living hell, further without shame because he believes his words impart never be heard. He speaks to himself, and poses questions to himself as many do when they are grapple internally with issues and... If you want to get a full essay, pitch it on our website:
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