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Some years ago, when my wife's father was stopped going the wrong way on 
a one way street in this small town, the officer, well known to Red, 
said, "Red, don't you know this is a one way street?" "But Rod," said 
Red, "I'm only going one way."

Red, of course, knew he was making a joke with the law.  Happily he was 
let off with a warning. Carrol, on the other hand, wants us to believe 
that a one way street really is a two way street. Well, okay, you pays 
your money and you makes your choices. But what you choose doesn't 
determine the nature of the street, only the approach you bring to it.

I don't see any new questions or pressing observations in his post, and 
all in all don't believe my certainty exceeds anything Carrol always has 
on display. To the degree that "Prufrock" is a successful poem, it's 
meaning inheres in its making, which, again, would have been what Pound 
so enthusiastically pounced on.

Consider Wyndham Lewis' account of meeting TSE:

" As I entered the room I discovered an agreeable stranger parked up one 
of the sides of the triangle. He softly growled at me, as we shook 
hands. American. A graceful neck, I noted, with what elsewhere I have 
described as 'a Gioconda smile.' Though not feminine -- besides being 
physically large his personality visibly moved within the male pale -- 
there /were/ dimples in the warm dark skin; undoubtedly he used his eyes 
a little like a Leonardo. He was a very attractive fellow then....I 
liked him, though I may say not at all connecting him with texts Ezra 
had shown me about some fictional character dreadfully troubled with old 
age, in which the lines....'I am growing old....'.....I was unable to 
make head or tail of.

Ezra now lay flung back in typical posture of aggressive ease... 
However, he kept steadily beneath his quizzical but self-satisfied 
observation his latest prize, or discovery -- the author of /Prufrock/. 
The new collector's piece went on smiling and growling out melodiously 
his apt and bright answers to promptings from the proud figure of his 
exhausted captor."

After this description of a most un-Prufrockian like character, Lewis 
stumbles in the same place Carrol does, but only partly for the same 
reason: he can't make sense of the meaning of the "growing old" line for 
Prufrock, whereas Carrol's attention is in another dimensionaaaaa, 
trying to make it work for Eliot. The answer lies in how Prufrock's 
actions and alarms make him what he is and bring him to an end /meant to 
be perceived/ as his fall, but moreover, in the first place, meant to be 
perceived by the structure and technique and signs in the poem. I think 
the telling phrase used to be "follow the lines of force."

Ken A

PS I am impressed by Carrol's evident respect for "Prufrock." In a post 
from him I stumbled upon by virtue of my email client deciding to open 
to posts from 2009, he noted that in the long run Eliot would be largely 
forgotten by future generations with only two poems, in a minor way, 
meeting the test of time. No doubt "Prufrock" is one of them. I suppose 
it is only a matter of time until this projection comes to pass, and we 
will all be on the Marianne Moore list, discussing as per Carrol those 
much richer and more powerful poems.