English Literature

Disillusioned and disconnected from society, the viewpoint expressed in the song  Desolation Row  by My Chemical Romance and  The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock  could be mirrors of lost illusion. Written and first performed by Bob Dylan,  Desolation Row  is centered around the image of a separate parcel of society, a sub level that people sink to and crawl from but rarely strive toward willingly. They have fallen from hopes and dreams, delusions and ideals of grandeur and fairy tale heights. Eliots  Prufrock  while following the same steps on an un-idealized middle-aged man, the poem tells the same story of despair and hopeful pessimism. The idea that we either become stagnated in dreams of an imagined self or accept the inconsistencies of the characters assigned to us and go on living is shown in the imagery of both pieces. Dark though both lyrics and poem lines may be, they each show a strain of hope in the drudgery and tragedy of life.

In the song  Desolation Row  there is a crisscross of characters, both imagined and real, which highlight the many facets of the human identity. There is the face we show to the world but is constantly strained by the reality of our lives and circumstances. One of the best examples of this in the song is in lines thirteen through sixteen,  Cinderella she seemed to easy Well, it takes one to know one, she smiles And puts her hands in her back pockets Betty Davis style.  Here there are two completely opposing views of womanhood Cinderella the servant who becomes a princess and the Hollywood legend who was known as much for her strong personality as her acting. There is the feeling that youre seeing the real Cinderella, jaded after years of living through her own fairy tale. In fairy tales, there is always and ending and after there is no telling what  happily ever after  may mean. Overall, its difficult to find a silver lining in this song. It is not meant to be uplifting, the  super human crew  who  round up everyone That knows more than they do  (ll. 22-24) prompts contemplation more than resolve. However, there is hope in looking beyond the boundaries of what youve come to accept and believe to see a broader truth.

In T.S. Eliots poem  The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,  there is the same dark but contemplative tone. Following the mind of a depressed and middle-aged man, living a life far below what he had envisioned for himself, it is easy to be drawn into the sadness of the poem. It is a sad poem. Hope is not pure joy but rather the idea of continuation. In the lines,  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  (ll. 121-125), Eliots Prufrock is both looking to the future and his present. Sad though it may seem to plan for the trivial while being upended emotionally, it is an almost liberating experience. He realizes himself, like Cinderella in  Desolation Row,  as beyond and within the limitations of his role in life.

Admittedly, given the imagery and juxtaposition of almost opposing imagery it would be easy to just call both poem and song examples of pessimism toward the whole human condition.  Prufrock  comes closest to this, as the banality and loneliness of the narrators life are in constant evidence but the images of fog and the sea are a yearning for oblivion that are not altogether negative. The same can be said for the harried fairy tale and classic characters in  Desolation Row.  All live beyond definitions, which is in a way the freest of all existences.

1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche 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 etherised upon a table
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
5
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
10
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,
15
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,
20
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
25
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
30
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
35
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
40
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
45
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,
50
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
55
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
60
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
It is perfume from a dress
65
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
70
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
75
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
80
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,
85
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,
90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say  I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all
95
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,
100
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
105
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. .....
110
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,
115
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
120
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.
125
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
130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Source httpwww.bartleby.com1981.html

Desolation Row  by My Chemical Romance  They re selling postcards of the hangingWell, they re painting the passports brownAnd the beauty parlor s filled with sailorsThe circus is in townOh now look here comes the blind commissionerWell, they ve got him in a tranceOne hand is tied to the tight-rope walkerThe other s in his pants

And the riot squad they re restlessThey need somewhere to goAs Lady and I look out tonightFrom Desolation Row

Oh Cinderella, she seems so easy Well, it takes one to know one,  she smilesAnd she puts her hands in her back pocketsOh Bette Davis styleAnd now but here comes Romeo, moaning You Belong to Me I Believe And then someone says, You re in the wrong place, my friendYou better leave
And then the only sound that s leftAfter the ambulances goIs Cinderella sweeping upOn Desolation Row
Yeah

Now at midnight all the agentsAnd superhuman crewGo out and round up everyoneThat knows more than they do (knows more than they do)They re gonna bring them to the factoryWhere the heart-attack machineIs strapped across their shouldersAnd then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castlesBy insurance men who goCheck to see that no one is escapingTo Desolation Row

Cause right now I can t read too goodDon t send me no letters noNot unless you re gonna mail themFrom Desolation Row