Of-J (1992 - 2001)
CLAUDIA (1996 - 2000)

Vocal: 安田政利 (GERACEE → O… Read Full Bio ↴Of-J (1992 - 2001)
CLAUDIA (1996 - 2000)

Vocal: 安田政利 (GERACEE → Of-J → CLAUDIA → Of-J → CROCUS → SUPER DROP BABIES, BEYOND THE STARDUST → Spooky Jam)
Guitar: 真宮香 → 間宮かおる (SUS4 → ＧＡＲＮＥＴ → アイン・レッシェルン→ Of-J → CLAUDIA → Of-J → LAGRANGE GARDEN → FIOSM(AMX005) → ソロ)
Bass: 佐藤厚 (φ－ファイ－ → Real → THE 6FEET UNDER → Of-J)

Former members:
Drums: 徹 (アイン・レッシェルン → Of-J → FANATIC◇CRISIS)
Bass: HIDE (Of-J → Gille Loves)　
Bass: 准那 (アイン・レッシェルン → シーン → ART OF JESUS → Of-J → Merry Go Round → DIET-COKE HEAD BARBIE DREAMS)
Bass: 京野 → 藤井京野 (Ti+Dee → Of-J → CLAUDIA → Of-J)
Drums: TOHRU → 冨安徹 (Merry Go Round → ANTIC DOLL → Of-J → CLAUDIA → Of-J → Merry Go Round (support) → JILS → 尾張桜組 → Moi dix Moix (support) → dibs → Moi dix Moix)

So Long
Of-J Lyrics

Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴

I miss you so much
Remember when we were driving to Salida
And you told me a story, on the way there
And it was beautiful
I miss those days
When it was just me and you
Why so long
Why so far

Why so long
Why so far
It's like it's right there

And then it's gone
It felt like family

Overall Meaning

In the song "So Long" by Of-J, the artist expresses feelings of nostalgia and longing for the past. The first few lines "I miss you so much, Remember when we were driving to Salida, And you told me a story, on the way there, And it was beautiful," are about a specific memory shared with someone important to the artist. This memory is held dearly by the artist, as they express missing the days when it was just them two, and when things felt like family. The repetition of the phrase "why so long, why so far" highlights the distance between the artist and their loved one, and the longing they feel for past memories and relationships.

The artist's longing is further emphasized by the metaphors used in the song. The line "It's like it's right there, And then it's gone" speaks to the fleeting nature of memories and how they can disappear quickly. The use of "Salida" as a setting illustrates the artist's desire to go back in time and re-live memories of simpler times with their loved one. Overall, the song portrays the artist's sense of yearning for a connection that has been lost or is far away.

Line by Line Meaning

I miss you so much
I yearn for your presence and companionship

Remember when we were driving to Salida
Recall the time we spent on a road trip to Salida

And you told me a story, on the way there
I remember the beautiful story you shared with me during the trip

And it was beautiful
The story you shared with me was truly exquisite

I miss those days
I long for the days when we spent quality time together

When it was just me and you
I reminisce about the moments when we were alone together

Why so long
Why has it been so much time since we last connected?

Why so far
What keeps us apart and at such a distance?

Why so long
Why has it been so long since we had a meaningful encounter?

Why so far
Why have we drifted so far apart in distance and connection?

It's like it's right there
The path to connecting and reuniting is so clear and obvious

And then it's gone
But somehow it always slips away and we remain distant

It felt like family
Our bond and connection felt like a close family relationship

Lyrics © DistroKid
Written by: Justin Etre

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

To comment on or correct specific content, highlight it

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Most interesting comments from YouTube:

Gabrielle Wellman

3y↑41

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

108grog

How many are born with the knowledge of the human story ?
... are reminded through their days of the arc that we tread, ( ... have tread? ... that we're drawn to tread ! ), of gain and loss , vigor and decline ? Self construction and . . . ill-lusion .
Better to ask - how many decline to forget this knowledge ? And how many of those are brave enough, angry enough, desperate and compassionate enough, . . .
to attempt to shake the sleepers awake ?

Art and Philosophy - carrying the awareness of the dilemma , and reconfiguring, transmitting, and thereby offering the potential for transmuting sensibilities.
(May there be a clasping of hands across infernal boundaries !)

They build the bridges.

An Unknown Man

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
BY T. S. ELIOT
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

All comments from YouTube:

Jane Burton

10y↑271

I memorized this gorgeous poem to avoid boredom while on the treadmill. After about 1 year I am seeing new bits of it all the time. He's our early modern genius poet. Fine poetry becomes richer if memorized. A great experience.

Jordan Scott

And I was dying of boredom listening to it

Madelyn Howell

1y↑1

I came back to this comment to say you inspired me to memorize this poem myself.. and I did it!

Mo

2y↑1

Yesss poems need to be memorized if you want to appreciate on a deeper level:)

Midwest Briar

2y↑1

I've been trying to memorize it for years and I can not seem to get it down. I got cocky after I memorized 'The Hollow Men' also by Eliot and 'The Men Who Don't Fit In' by Robert W Service. I also have ambitions of memorizing 'Ash Wednesday'. If I can pull that off I'll move onto 'Citizenship in a Republic' by TR.

Le Flâneur

4y↑2

Great, just great!

4 More Replies...

Gabrielle Wellman

3y↑41

Mxolisi Dhladhla

2y↑1

Underrated comment

Bob Toomey

10y↑138

Beautiful reading of one of the great poems of the 20th Century. "There will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet." It's like a knife to the heart.

Rory Curtis

When ever i settle a pillow to sleep i think of this

Zoya Blake

Yes!

Le Flâneur

4y↑2

One of the great lines!

Lonesome Dan's Vintage Vinyl!

11y↑79

This is one of the great poems of all time, and Eliot's reading is (to my mind) the definitive reading: precise to the point almost of preciousness; enervated; and filled with self-revulsion and despair. It is stunning that he wrote this poem, which captures so well the weary knowledge of aging, when he was such a young man.

Margaret Thomas

3y↑3

He was so much older then, he’s younger than that now.

Hannah E. Wolfe

1y↑9

for the past 10 years or so, I've been coming back to this video every time I've had too much to take. I listen to it till I fall asleep.

Ailish McElroy

11y↑7

I studied this poem in school over 20 years ago as it was part of the Irish curriculum. I struggled to understand the feeling in this poem back then as I was too young. Now its overwhelming.

Ron Villejo

7y↑2

Perhaps, years ago as now, you actually picked up on the emotional tone of this poem: It's a melange of complex feelings that are hard for Prufrock himself to understand, and at the end of the day he's overwhelmed - romantically and sexually, philosophically and spiritually.

Felipe

6y↑18

This is the beauty of art. Words are just words but how your emotions roll around those words creates your interpretation of the poem. I have gone back to this poem through my life ever since I was 15( 24 now) and I have heard it in multiple phases of my life. I’ve heard it when I craved a partner in this world. I heard it when I was with the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. And today I read it a broken man whose lost her and will forever love her as she sleeps more in love then she’s ever been in another mans arms. Every time it’s a different experience and though I stay here hurt and destroyed I also have to keep on fighting this life so that I can hear it again on another day maybe even a better one.

jcalli66

8y↑207

'I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas' - simply one of the most haunting and poignant lines in all of Western literature capturing what true loneliness and isolation from your fellow man feels like.

Raisa Cherry's Universe 🍒

😢

Barbara Baldwin

wow

dethkon

4y↑2

Struggled through heroically by Dennis Hopper's character in Apocalypse Now!

harrypotternerd27

4y↑6

If you’re interested, I read somewhere that it’s a reference to Hamlet Act II scene 2, when Hamlet tells Polonius, “you yourself, sir, should be as old as I am—if, like a crab, you could go backward.”
I’m not sure where I read it, and it’s not in the footnotes that I have. But it makes sense to me, given all the other Hamlet references in the poem. :)

4 More Replies...

Khendra

10y↑74

This is perhaps my favorite poem of all-time, and one to which I relate strongly. The weariness, introspection, and melancholy are apparent in the tone and tempo as well as the words. Simply brilliant.

John Bossy

5y↑168

"I have seen the moment of my greatness filcker" ... a terrifying line.

Rory Curtis

@Warren Graham everyone wants to be greater than they are

Warren Graham

3y↑2

@Borxoi86 I took that as he saw a glimpse of how great he could be

Borxoi86

3y↑2

Yes, but later in his life, TSE discovered true life in Christ through his embrace of the ancient, traditional Anglican faith. Still a good pathway today!

Tom Saltsman

10y↑115

Everyone has a favorite line from this great work. I have many. One is, of course, "Do I dare to eat a peach?"

HeXeN

1y↑1

@Sobriety Cat if he fears growing old he should just wear his trousers rolled.

Barbara Baldwin

yes!! Elliot recalled.

Sobriety Cat

4y↑13

@Tomsdottir Perhaps I am explaining something to you you already know but this line refers to ageing and the difficulty of eating a peach with dentures or decaying teeth. The fear of ageing and realization of ageing is a underlying theme to the poem.

Patricia D

4y↑8

@Tomsdottir laugh out loud! My favorite way to eat a peach is barefoot, in the grass. Kneeling or sitting, as the juice drips down my chin, down the edge of my hand, down to my elbow.

2 More Replies...

Dylan nalyd

10y↑25

Aaah, I'm very happy that people like TS Eliot exist, to be so articulate, to allude to the ineffable, and to perpetuate the chase toward its articulation so tactfully (he knows better, you see, than to try to name the thing, to squeeze the world into a ball and to roll it toward that overwhelming question... What if that wasn't it after all?)
I admire the warmth in this thread btw, especially compared to most youtube threads.

Trollificus

8y↑1

+Dylan nalyd And yet...he is not SURE he should not have done so anyway. Should he have overcome that fear, of rejection, of misunderstanding? He seems to have some regret, but unsure if he should feel that regret...

ssgdhg sdfff

1y↑3

Heard this when I was 19, now I am 23, by each year this poem becomes more relatable.

"I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas"

Nisha Kutty

2y↑6

My Father , a professor of English Literature would read this to us , his children at ages 9-10 in his beautiful baritone voice.
I am so grateful that he did, this poem has stuck with me decades later. The use of words in this poem is nothing short of divine.

0supermoose

11y↑14

It always astounded me how well this served as a "first" Eliot poem. It's such a natural starting point.

kat gonella manley

9y↑62

i've never heard the poem fully read aloud before. this, to me, seems exactly how it should sound.

Lodge Forte

2y↑2

If you can hear a poem read by its author, I recommend it.

Treble Bass

7y↑2

katherine m Anthony Hopkins reads it, and I like the way he handles it. You can find it on youtube also...

rosiecider100

11y↑7

Poetry, to be heard and not read.Amazing insight from such a young man.Love it.

Jez Creed

9y↑55

That is just English in all its beauty. This is the first T.S Elliot poem I've listened to in all its glory and I am not disappointed!

jcalli66

3y↑1

By a guy from the lovely British hamlet of St. Louis, Missouri :-)

Trippetta

4y↑54

"Till human voices wake us and we drown..." how it feels to be jolted out of a beautiful daydream by someone talking at the top of their lungs on public transit.

Terry Maccarrone

2y↑5

As i have lived my life since 1942
Observing and Dreaming

MARSBELLA1

3y↑1

How snobbish. Head phones exist. I love to hear people sounding happy. You re the sort that makes my mother and father self consious - and why? When we all see each other we dont often have the chance. I am not going to sit in silence because of people like YOU.

GodmyX

9y↑35

Wow! I feel privileged to be able to listen to this... what else would you wish for? And the recording is very well for 1947!!!

Anne Seagull

3y↑4

It's the poem that we quote lines from to ourselves as philosophical little pointers from time to time - unforgettable images, refreshing and enriching in their concrete directness, beautifully real, yet quite lateral, a bit surreally juxtaposed and haunting - always reminding us of a nostalgic rite of passage of an older man who we can relate to, as a love song perhaps to his wife or girlfriend, with whom he is facing some kind of big step he feels he doesn't want to "disturb the universe" by initiating a big change - modest, wry, yet dramatic and rather self-effacing. Such enjoyable rhymes and rhythms, and spoken by the poet with the perfect air of unponderous reflection . I probably quote to myself weekly lines like "No I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be" and "And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin.....Then how should I begin/To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?'" And everyone recalls the mermaids stanzas, such a resonance of the fanciful tides of mortality....

Deepshikha G

3y↑34

I know this is so much more than about just social anxiety but as someone with severe social anxiety...it makes me feel at home.

MARSBELLA1

3y↑2

I ve had it for years and years - and I thought it would never go away. I actually thought Jesus said to me to drink alchohol as that could perfectly ease it. And life went on and drunkenly I would sing my song. I survived. No one understands how crippling it is. Just live. When you find yourself well - which you will, if youre still young, dont leave that place or take it for granted.

1 More Replies...

Guillaume

6y↑14

"Till human voices wake us, and we drown" the way I read this is that the entire poem is a dream - escaping from the harsh realities of life

silveryluna

12y↑4

what a treasure. what a pleasure on this saturday morning to hear this voice with these words which I have loved and quoted for years. thanks for making it available here. angry birds shades of grey? who cares? they fade and fall away. this remains.

Rocky RI

2y↑2

The poem that always hunts me❤️

Greg Judkins

3y↑5

A poem I have loved for over 50 years, but hearing Eliot read it I am now more aware of the striking plaiting together of sensuality, banal social observation and philosophy.

Abhinav Dasgupta

4y↑18

Over the last 15 years, I have lost track of how many times I have come back to different extracts of this poem. Even today, in the midst of the global crisis we are going through, I can hear humankind saying:
"I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid."

susiemac2u

9y↑468

He wrote this when he was 22-years-old.

Henry W. Elliott

2y↑3

@Jonah Geuens Privelege and education only count for so much, man; what he had was inborn, innate, and inherent: intellect; intelligence: something which so many of his darker contemporaries sorely lacked; "the talented ten percent", as described by W. E. B. du Bois, were but ten against the untalented extraneous ninety.

108grog

Kate Boudreaux

@John Mulligan Pahahahaaaaa

Zimo Y.

@Alok Shukla he published it at 27

Aditya Farjam

@Tina Privitera saying happy birth day 21 times

17 More Replies...

Camille Simone

8y↑11

There will be time to prepare a face for the faces that you'll meet. Still one of the realist things ever written.

Nick Thurman

6y↑328

my dude finna go platinum

rcftwalker

Yo my literature teacher pointed out your comment lol

Orrphan

Not sure what finna is, but assuming it’s good. Use this to fall asleep. Mesmerizing

Joshua Ross

Still after 3 years my favourite YouTube comment of all time

John Al-Hussein

Hahahahaha

disgusted

4y↑4

Cindi Thomas what? it's a joke

3 More Replies...

양창모

4y↑3

Awesome! Your reciting made me captivated.So I never pass a day without listening to this captivating poem.Your voice is still vivid like you are in front of me. Thanks a million.

Eran Horowitz

10y↑4

one of (if not the - ) best poems of the 20th century. Absolutely beautiful.

JiMMY!!

6y↑26

I feel this poem follows me through my life

Le Tinh Song

6y↑3

:-) Why thank you sir. I was telling someone the next day, it was so ironic, because as I was listening to this, my jeans were actually rolled up, lol! So I KNOW I'm getting old! (and I am.)

JiMMY!!

6y↑1

Le Tinh Song Great Comment! ‘I have measured out my life in Eliot poems’. Love it!!That is a fantastic quote itself!!

Le Tinh Song

6y↑5

It does, doesn't it? I can never go to the beach without thinking of this poem, for one thing. Just lines from it always pop up in my head. Same with some of his other poems..."Hidden, oh hidden;" "Come out from under the shadow of this red rock;" "Hurry up, it's time." Eliot might have measured out his life in coffee spoons, but my own life seems to be measured out by Eliot's lines.

Genevieve Lovell

2y↑2

My favorite line 'Let us go then, you and I/while the evening is spread out across the sky/like a patient etherized upon a table' staggering, modern, brilliance. He was so ahead of his time. Morbid but real.

angelrwbf

11y↑2

And I fell asleep listening to it last night. I've been searching for this recording, thank you so much for posting!

Richard's Trainwreck Film Review

12y↑2

I posted a reading of this myself recently -- such a lovely poem. There's nothing quite like hearing its own progenitor reciting it aloud, though; he really seems to savor each word as it rolls off his tongue. What a treat this is! Thank you for posting it

roxana plesoianu

12y↑3

It actually made my stomach sick.I'm trembling.I loved the poem eversince I first read it but listening E reading it gave it a new sense.It's perfect.

Rachelle Ashman-Wells

5y↑2

The greatest poem of all time read by the author himself. Made me cry

Jim Hall

11y↑4

I couldn't agree more. I first heard this poem in 1960 as a young man and it has been etched in my mind since that time. I probably read it through at least 5 times a year.

Fugg Diss

11y↑2

Great reading. Haunting and melancholy.

Yuwa

12y

I've listened to this obsessively for the past 48 hours, and now am on my (probably) 20th time around. It's so good. And his voice!

J. Alfred Prufrock

3y↑3

Hearing him like this, it's really hard to imagine he was born in Missouri. I wonder what he sounded like when he first wrote this, and whether it would make a difference in the way he read it aloud.

xanfus

12y↑2

The first time I ever heard of T.S. Eliot was oddly in my 12th grade technology class. This is still my favorite poem of all time! Of course Dylan Thomas and E.E. Cummings are definitely up there!

Crimey M

11y↑1

My favorite poem of all time, and you have placed his voice reading it online. In short, you rule. :)

Rachel Smith

9y↑31

Absolutely brilliant. I've listened to this so many times. Hearing the artist read their work is a beautiful, insightful gift. Pristine piece.

James Upton

6y↑2

What a fantastic lugubrious delivery. Perfect. And yet so young when he wrote it.

mountainserenity

12y↑3

So pleased to find Eliot reading this poem. Nobody reads it like him!

Barbara Baldwin

3y↑1

!!!!!!!!!

Hope Kujawa

2y↑2

"(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)"
I keep coming back to that verse...

Vitória Lima

12y↑17

It's an outlandish experience listering to Eliot speaking out of the untouchable neverland his beautiful poem. I have never tried to "understand" Eliot. His poems "are" they do not "mean". The sounds, the echoes, the beauty, the rosonance of his words make me dream.

ICanDoAnything Pinball

2y↑3

It's a beautiful poem and one of my favorites but as a love song it's tragic. I read that it's mostly agreed that the overwhelming question is likely a marriage proposal, or to put it a little blandly, 'Do you love me too? Do you love me back?'. Prufrock, mute observer more than participant, is taking measures continually and habitually not to disturb the universe with his presence, let alone to ask for love. It's very sad in its way. He has depth but winds up drowning inside himself--the woman he wants is not mythical or at the bottom of the sea in his own imaginings but at the top of the stairs he descends, reversing his decisiom--beyond a door he never dares to knock on. Sensuality scares him. Do I dare? He is not Lazerous, really, because he hasn't died. Rather, like Freud says about the feelings we refuse--they are not killed--they are always buried alive. So is Prufrock. Meanwhile, day by day his routine and his measured (but unreal) manner deposit a correct amount of coffee--routines and habits that begin to define not just a past but a predictable future (should he not break with routine). I grow old. Beyond speechless he is pinned in a formulated phrase. Other's correctly characterize or mischaracterize him probably either being equally painful--he's skewered like a well-mannered mute who cannot answer for his own silence.

I think this is simply a loving, emotional, intelligent and sensitive person shut inside himself by something like victorianism and respectable diffidence--imprisoned by a habitual manner that does not permit a personality or a life. If the form of the poem triumphantly breaks out of an old mode of inhibited expression the person in the poem does not. He doesn't escape.

Something's missed in seeing it as a modern triumph. The straight jacket Prufrock wears predates the poem, I suspect. The one thing that is absent from the poem is love.

wiisalute

6y↑1

I loved the musical cats as a kid and still love it today. We had the poems that the musical was based on and I decided to read a few of TS' poems and short plays myself including this and the waste land. Very ominous poet

local embarrassment

8y↑10

My absolute favorite poem 😌

Bárbara Fernández

11y

One of my favourites ever! Thanks for this contribution.

alezander666

12y↑2

THIS IS THE KIND OF POETRY THAT BECOMES LEGEND,it somehow,someway reaches at least my deep heart,another "intimations on immortality,wordsworth,occult,visionary men who blow our minds to this day,i may also suggest '''CONFESSIONS OF A ENGLISH OPIUM EATER",thomas dequincy,the most profound book,and STEPPENWOLF,by hermann hesse,also goes beyond all time and space

Jan96106

12y↑4

Someone made the comment here that poems like this aren't meant to be voiced. Yes they are. Of course they are. This is a dramatic monologue. And Eliot was acutely aware and entranced by the sounds of words. He thought the rhyme and the rhythm of poetry was more important than the actual meaning of the words themselves. He felt the sound was what evoked a primal emotional response in the listener, the words being almost secondary.

Dimitris Boump

11y↑2

He is still the greatest English speaking poet of the last 100 years

sarahkasapna

12y

I love this. I think this will change the way I'll read the poem, forever.

Michael McCarthy

4y↑3

I have been reading the ‘Love Song’ for over a year.
I can’t get past the first verse, when I reach the fourth line, my brain gets a massive
Shot of Dopamine and I go into Priapic Ecstasy.

Lonesome Dan's Vintage Vinyl!

11y

Sir, you are a man of exquisite taste! I reread the poem from time to time, but less frequently than you do. I also try to reread "The Waste Land" at least once a year. Both poems improve with time.

Ryan Newstead

I think TS Eliot is the one poet I had to study in school that I actually liked the poetry of

orth82

4y↑5

And I have seen the eternal footman hold my coat, and snicker.
And in short I was afraid.

T.S.Eliot is the man

amb8819

4y↑10

The part about the mermaids not singing to him has always cut me deep. Such is the fear of most all men.

Lyra Evans

@Heidi Ankers How do you even understand the meaning of this poetry?

Heidi Ankers

3y↑3

Mermaids as one end of a continuum-with the endless chatter of middle-aged ladies at the other end. The mermaids represent True freedom, and not living one's own imagined life gives me shivers indeed; by far the scariest mortal gut-wrencher..that one did not wake to one's own life.

Leo Miller

Indeed.

TreeSpoon

11y

this is so beautiful, i fell asleep listening to this last night. it is music.

Phantom

This is used in Cyberpunk 2077 (the forst part anyways, and it does definitely fit. An amazing piece of literacy :)

Carl Fike

10y

Powerful and moving.

marybeth koons

6y↑2

A most perfect poem--expressing our basic humanity.

Soren Aleksander

10y↑8

"That is not it at all/That is not what I meant at all" The creed, I think, of every writer who must also live life!

Gabrielle Rosson

7y↑13

I'm obsessed with this poem.

Google is retarded

5y↑1

Me too!

bao s

9y↑6

how is it that 37 people dislike this? even if his poetry is not for you.... perhaps passing judgment on a mind of this caliber says much more about judger than the judged...

Luka Bolonić

bao s well, whitman consumes me whole, but among the later poets, i guess i have a more organic feeling with pound and his cantos.....i can imagine it as a kind of ezra's stream-of-consciousness, life-long 'soundtrack', while the waste land and the bridge (crane) seem too much like pastiche. i don't know, they don't get my juices flowing :D but yeah, "flawless" is a horrible word to use, i will ascribe that to english not being my mother tongue. do you have any modernist poetry to recommend? :)

bao s

yeah the wasteland really captured my imagination when i was a young man, now it is purely prufrock for me =)

bao s

whose work would you describe as being closer to being "flawless" ?

Luka Bolonić

9y↑1

bao s if tory means he is conservative, that's not what first springs to mind, but yeah, that also. i find his work nowhere near flawless, but of course i respect it and all....the more i read the modernist poets, the more i get the feeling that with them it's often a case of success through failure. maybe it's really true they are late-comers, in the bloomian sense...anyways, that sums up my feeling of the waste land, not this, i like this fine :) and it's better for me to stop haha, cheers :D

bao s

sure he is a tory fool, but his work speaks for itself... still you are right, no one is beyond reproach ...

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Johan Herrenberg

3y↑1

Hypnotic. Greatness.

John Paradise

11y

This is a great poem and I do enjoy—not that my approval is anything — Eliot's reading of his poem. Thank you for posting! And where did you get it? Do you have the record?

DannSindWirHelden

10y↑2

I used to hate this poem, because I had the wrong attitude towards it. But then I changed my mind. In the room the women come and go\Talking of MICHELANGELO, this is me at the hairdresser’s – This is absolutely one of the most powerful images of the poem!

Kyle Binkley

11y

As a student, I have been measuring out my life in coffee spoons, and this is what my final is on. *Takes a sip and starts an outline*... Great piece of work btw, this is classic, or should be.

J. W.

10y

Even though there are some pretty good versions out there nothing beats the master himself... It's all in his voice & pronunciation

Plummy Zebra

10y↑75

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons... <3 best line ever :)

Heidi Ankers

That reading of it does not hold water if you read Eliot's title; it's a Love poem. It's about the ragged loneliness inherent in love's labours.

Mike F

Plummy Zebra he stole the line from Crash Test Dummies.

Le Flâneur

4y↑1

Imagine a man past his prime, in a grey room depressed, frail and slouched, shaky hands, with the coffee spoon

Le Tinh Song

6y↑1

One of. This poem alone has several "Best Lines Ever," let alone the bulk of his other work. IMO, the best poet of the Western World ever, including Homer.

Someone else

Citizen Kane Jr. thought the peach reference was to the stone and breaking of teeth? I.e. Death anxiety

5 More Replies...

Alma Minerva Leal Benavides

10y↑3

Desde que Octavio Paz lo mencionó aquí en México quise saber algo de él. Con esta poesía se revela su naturaleza tímida y a la vez una inteligencia sensible para describir los sentimientos, conocimientos, estado de ánimo, filosofía,etc. T.S.Eliot y su poesía de los pájaros también es bonita.

Le Tinh Song

Octavio Paz is my second-favorite poet, after Eliot. Have loved them both for decades, since my college days.

Robin Witting

This great poem has had massive cultural impact, even outside poetry and beyond, and it gets 5,000 listens. Makes you think. Robin Witting England

Alan Burrall

11y↑3

wonder what it would have sounded like if he'd recorded it when he wrote it in his early twenties. an older man reading this is different than a young man reading it.

Hoodie Loli 💜

4y↑32

This poem hits different when you're barely 20 but have an autoimmune disease and various chronic illnesses. I haven't even gone outside since March, the beginning of Quarantine.
"Do I dare?"
I'm already disgustingly frail and thin as is, I do not think I could afford to contract the virus. A couple years ago I barely made it out of Influenza A followed by Norovirus.
I shouldnt compare myself to others, but I am disgusting. My mouth is dry, my teeth decaying, my eyesight dimming, medication keeping me alive but slowly taking things from me. And I am only 19. I hope for a miracle but I honestly expect to die quite young. The medications only slow the decline, they don't prevent it. I'm lucky that I was diagnosed at 18. I dont know how much longer it will be until my liver or kidneys finally decide to self-destruct. Am I really living? Is this really it?
I've tried to end it all in the past, failing miserably. I dont want to try again, I have things to do. Things I care about. I try to keep my mind occupied on the present. But there are nights like tonight where I'll find myself reflecting. The nausea from the doxycyclene reminds me of how utterly weak I am. I foolishly take great care of my outward appearance, knowing that inwards I am far beyond my age. I dont want to look sick, malnourished, or weathered when I die; I want to at least look young. Such a pathetic thing to hope for, this body will decay anyways. Needless to say, these months of isolation only remind me of my brushes with death. Missing out on pivotal moments. Never experiencing youth like my friends have.
This is very self depreciating, and very melodramatic. But so was Eliot, so at least I say this in an appropriate setting.

benoplustee

3y↑4

You alright friend? Hope you're making it thru

Heidi Ankers

3y↑2

Thank you for sharing your experience. You are in the right place according to the modern poet J.Suskin, 'The Poem Store': I was reminded in her book 'Everyday is a Poem', that poetry is where we can turn when all is failing. Poetry is one of the Graces, one of our graces- if we hang around poetry it is always capable of returning us to life.

Morgan Tran

3y↑1

thank you

may i talk to you?

gloryhole station 1

8y↑4

i love this poem. i always have.

chris hunter

11y

I agree, Steppenwolf was something else... back to TSE, many lines but once, when I had not read him for ages, the openeing line "The rivers tent is broken" appeared out of nowhere...

JWr92

4y↑20

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid.

Robin Witting

@concars1234 The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, Panagiotis.

Le Flâneur

@concars1234 the one being read in the video. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Robin Witting

4y↑1

Oh, haven't we all felt that? Robin Witting

concars1234

@Le Flâneur what poem?

Le Flâneur

@concars1234 it's from the poem

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Faith & Plunder Archive

3y↑7

I'll be honest, I only came here for my homework that had to do with this poem. However I hope everyone enjoyed this piece of art from the 20th Century.

Forest BirdGirl

it's all about what you do with that "homework" ... bravo! to this teacher who sent you here!

britwit9

5y↑8

"Smoke that rises from lonely men in shirtsleeves"...could be almost anytime, anywhere. An eloquent capture.

Joshua Ross

They roll their shorts and he rolls his trousers

Juan Regis

12y↑5

"There will be time, there will be time... Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea."

Mental Barf

6y↑2

I get the impression that this is about growing old, but I feel that to me, it is about becoming an adult. I'm graduating next year. And I wonder, will the sea girls sing to me still?

Bhavishya Balani

love songs these days, just as beautiful guys

Nilzebub

12y↑3

"I've heard the mermaids singing, each to each." Love, Polly VanDersma

Blackline667

12y↑1

Writing a thesis on Eliot's aesthetics as we speak!

An Unknown Man

lonelygnome1

11y

this is great!....someone should write this down!!!

Flan Plan

I know that he began writing this in his late teens-early 20’s—which is rather young. He was far more mature than other people of his age—I imagine even amongst the well educated folks back then, they probably wouldn’t come anywhere near close to this.

Also, he was born and did live in St. Louis for quite a bit of his life before moving to England to go to college (then never leaving), and if you listen carefully, there is still a hint of that St. Louis midwestern twang in there.

Debabrata Chakrabarti

I have goosebumps!

infrantasi

10y↑3

I love his reading, I've done it with a bit more drama, and self-pity in the voice, which I think is J. Alfred's tragic flaw, among many others. How to "don white trousers and walk along the beach" has been the dilemma of many shallow men, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, truth to tell.

elliot skunk

6y↑5

Why does this poem speak to me so deeply?
Why is it TS Eliot? That poet I'm named after but know nothing about?
How did I find this? Why am I here?

The lemons don't taste of anything anymore.

Jeff Kujawa

You would be interested to know in St. Louis just who was the name in the title?

Abhay Kumar Singh

There will be time stanza is my favourite. Wonderful poem. It needs thinking about it.

Frank Herig

quite very good, 1915. a modernised poeta docta et laureato...thx for the upload. did not know that there are such audio-gems, from a century earlier..avail-able.

EverydayJacobsLife

11y

loved it.

domakesaythink00

11y

The poem was recorded for a series titled "The Voice of the Poet."

RyanKaufman

10y↑81

I didn't enjoy this poem, and in turn Eliot himself, because in High School I was forced to read and hyper-dissect this poem. Now that I'm far from that overly analytical crap, I can enjoy the emotions that are obvious in the poem, without worrying about what every little word means.

ThePsycoDolphin

School is just a way to kill all love of poetry. I absolutely DETESTED it. I've spent the last years catching up on it all. Its amazing how much more engaged you are when allowing the poems to just 'flow' through, embrace its words. Then go back and pick out your favourites, then try and dissect specifically bits. That way you appreciate the poem more. Eliot, to me, demands interrogation. Hes so dense in his metaphor, allusions and imagery you have to confront him.

Mark Hildack

Nothing like this makes sense to someone who hasn’t...

RyanKaufman

4y↑7

@Trollificus Yeah it's funny going back to this comment. I wrote it when I was just finishing up my sophomore year of college, the second semester of which I switched from having a minor to double majoring with English (literary). That's how I found this poem again, with a professor who actually cared about poetry. The high school teacher I brought up was more a fan of books and writing books, he had zero interest in poetry but the curriculum demanded it so he rigidly followed that curriculum. Therein lies the issue. And I expressed this frustration because I was so glad I finally could read and digest poetry without fear of unraveling the entire poem. Five years later and I've read many poems, analyzed them on my own, I now can approach this poem like I was attempting to approach it in high school.

And you're right, the poems I love the most I barely linger on analysis. Manfred and Ozymandias, I couldn't tell you the inner workings or the contextual relevance. I just like the images made. But I can talk your ear off for most of Coleridge, Keats, and Tennyson. That's such a strange dichotomy.

I hope you all have seen some great things and have grown a lot in the last five years. Time moves quickly, I'm afraid.

Gabby Shannon

Hmmm, that's too bad. My English professor had us focus on objective correlatives more than explicating the text. Eliot's a master of objective correlatives -- something I would love to achieve one day in my own poetry!