Prufrock and Other Observations | Page 6

said,
"Remark the cat which flattens
itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of
rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic
Slipped out and
pocketed a toy that was running along the quay. I could see nothing
behind that child’s eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer
through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old
crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I
held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune
rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She
smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A
washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,

That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old
nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
The
reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,

Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered
rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."
The lamp said,
"Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.

Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the
stair,
Mount.

The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall

Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
The last twist of the knife.
Morning at the Window
They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the
trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of

housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom
of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An
aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of
the roofs.
The Boston Evening Transcript
The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript
Sway in the blind like a
field of ripe corn.
When evening quickens faintly in the street,

Wakening the appetites of life in some
And to others bringing the
Boston Evening Transcript,
I mount the steps and ring the bell,
turning
Wearily, as one would turn to nod good-bye to
Rochefoucauld If the street were time and he at the end of the street,

And I say, "Cousin Harriet, here is the Boston Evening Transcript."
Aunt Helen
Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,
And lived in a small house
near a fashionable square
Cared for by servants to the number of four.

Now when she died there was silence in heaven
And silence at her
end of the street.
The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped
his feet-- He was aware that this sort of thing had occurred before.

The dogs were handsomely provided for,
But shortly afterwards the
parrot died too.
The Dresden clock continued ticking on the
mantelpiece,
And the footman sat upon the dining-table
Holding the
second housemaid on his knees--
Who had always been so careful
while her mistress lived.
Cousin Nancy
Miss Nancy Ellicot
Strode across the hills and broke them
Rode
across the hills and broke them--
The barren New England hills

Riding to hounds
Over the cow-pasture.

Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked
And danced all the modern dances;

And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they
knew that it was modern.
Upon the glazen shelves kept watch
Matthew and Waldo, guardians
of the faith,
The army of unalterable law."
Mr. Apollinax
When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled
among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the
birch-trees, And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the
swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor
Channing-Cheetah’s He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His
laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the seats

Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men
drift down in the green silence, Dropping from fingers of surf.
I
looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair, Or grinning
over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaurs’
hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the
afternoon.
"He is a charming man"--"But after all what did he
mean?"-- "He has pointed ears ... he must be unbalanced,"--
"There
was something he said that I might have challenged." Of dowager Mrs.
Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of
lemon and a bitten macaroon.
Hysteria
As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and
being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each
momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat,
bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with
trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked
cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman
wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to

take their tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the shaking