Oh, that's really good your "flannels creased to cut the tide". I always wondered why he asked himself, "Do I dare to eat a peach?" Was he worried that the flavor would be too good or that the juices would make a mess or was he worried he might chip a tooth? That's poetry I guess.
I think your third choice is the key: peaches have pits. In his frame of mind, he might have bitten into the peach wrongly and chipped a tooth or cracked his dentures (more likely).
With reference to Prufrock, I wrote a sort of elegy for Eliot some years ago which incuded these lines;
What to make of Prufrock
walking on his beach?
Talking, talking, always talking ...
Did he eat the peach?
Walking, walking, growing old,
flannels creased to cut the tide,
mermaids singing in the foam
but none, not one, would be his bride.
Oh, that's really good your "flannels creased to cut the tide". I always wondered why he asked himself, "Do I dare to eat a peach?" Was he worried that the flavor would be too good or that the juices would make a mess or was he worried he might chip a tooth? That's poetry I guess.
I think your third choice is the key: peaches have pits. In his frame of mind, he might have bitten into the peach wrongly and chipped a tooth or cracked his dentures (more likely).
Yeah, I agree. He was a fragile, vain man.
Prufrock? Yes, sort of like Eliot, himself.
A tribute that matches its worth - for me also immeasurable. It’s ragged claws, the picture of a cruel sky stretching to the horizon.
I get that same visual.
I like this "A Carpenter Writes to Poets" series. Billy Collins, T.S. Eliot ... looking forward to who's next!
Lovely poem, Weston.
Powerful