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I agree with Ken that, in the poem, it is Prufrock who is being "roasted," and I agree on his analysis of how. My comments were about how critics read that line about Prufrock and so how the line is understood--in the poem.

But in the email it was Roz Kaveney and not for any poetic reason.
Nancy

I also agree with Eugene that one might have better issues on Easter morning. So Happy Easter to all. And I hope it is a year of genuine renewal for all as well.

>>> Ken Armstrong  04/20/14 11:52 AM >>>
              On 4/20/2014 10:55 AM,      [log in to unmask] wrote:
    
                I am not arguing or advocating for or against women or for or        against men but this seems to me to be a very strange discussion        on a Sunday morning, especially this morning here in the West        when one might hear or read of the holy hush of ancient        sacrifice or what some might describe as the old catastrophe;        the last echoes from an insurance man in Connecticut.
      
      
      Curiously, I have always like Eliot's line about the women        and Michelangelo because I was a lad when I first heard or read        it (thus without benefit of literary or cultural criticism)  and        it conjured up an image of some discussing and/or admiring a        visual artist or his art.  Gender was unimportant.  I wandered        through museums alone and it is was both an otherworldly and        historical experience.  I especially liked the Frick and for        sone reason they allowed a high school student in unattended;        now forbidden.  So in that sense, unaware of social or cultural        meaning, I read Eliot for the sound and the "detached" meaning        of his poetry.  And that of course may form the foundation of my        suggestions here on this List that the poetry is great (and I do        not use that word lightly) apart from the explication and        biography (though the latter are too endlessly fascinating.)
      
      
      I'm grateful I read Eliot in the vacuum or cocoon of youth        and wonder if the first introduction to poetry in grade and        middle schools should be aural; then let the schoolchildren's        minds roam.  Only one or two may respond but therein may be the        next Eliot or Whitman or Dickinson.
      
      
      Happy Easter (for the art as well as the religion.)
      
        Sent from my iPhone
      
        On Apr 20, 2014, at 10:01 AM, Nancy Gish <[log in to unmask]>        wrote:
        
      
                                            In the spirit of positivity, I am answering this as a serious          response to a serious question.
          
          No, you do not sense any misandry. And I do not have any          problem. If there is a problem, then, it is not mine.
          
          It would be hard to find any gloss on the line about women          coming and going, over all of Eliot criticism, that does not          describe it as mocking the women. It is seen in the          juxtaposition, the doggerel rhythm, the feminine rhyme. The          women have always been considered as representing          pseudo-intellectual and silly chatter. It runs through          practically every book and article on "Prufrock" from the          earliest commentaries. It is simply a standard reading. And          the doggerel and feminine rhyme really do make it a sudden          shift in tone to satire.
        
              
             Interesting. I've always read it as a slam on Prufrock's    stifled sensibility. Seems to me that everything in the poem is as    it is there in relation to Prufrock's condition. We're not getting    an objective view or Eliot's view; we're getting the world according    to Prufrock, and he is threatened by the women's talk of    Michelangelo. He is hugely attracted to them, but does not see them    seeing him in the same light and is unable to come to terms with his    attraction to them. He sees them unknowingly as separate beings from    himself and therefore doesn't grasp the significance of arms downed    with light brown hair. The moment he turns away, alarmed, from those    hairy arms to speculations about perfume, he loses what could have    been his salvation and spirals on down to his imagined integration    with the arthropods. It's a comedy. But it's Prufrock who's being    roasted at his own pity party.
    
     Ken A
    
  

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