Improv 1, Week 2

This piece is a riff of the poem “The Long Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,’ by T.S. Eliot.

The Long Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse

…

I am no poet – 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.

…

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.


This piece is a reflection of how poets often correlate aspects of fiction, as well as aspects of the “real self” in poems. Generally, the envisioned ‘self’ is merely an umbrella that encompasses a compilation of many different signs. The poem above deals with Prufrock contemplating his identity of what he is and what he is not. My piece will reflect the image of a self that is known and a self that is desired in the same format as the piece above.


Cry for Me

In a year there are seasons
That make us long for other seasons until we miss the first

…

I am no mother – that it is not my calling
The breeze of babies’ breath has fallen
And the sound of motor-boat tummies is drawling
In my ears, and I have died

…

Fool! I have not bore the trees, they weep sap me
Nursing consumes me, in a way
That I am exposed to babes each day.
To calm the parents, barreling into the fray
When they cry like desolate banshees,
And utilizing tender, cautious, and suave hands;
Master of high maintenance, I must be;
At times, I laugh at myself
They envy me.