I am Prufrock Looking Back
Who shall we be when all our exploring is done?
Haunted by my history of loving
& not loving — violent impulse
& steady hand — I have seen betrayal
& suffered on its lands.
What is the purpose of tragedy —
of epic lives? I give both Shakespeare
& Greeks a run for their money.
Should we return to our beginnings
know the place for the first time?
Eliot has sung to me all my life.
I am Prufrock, ageing & looking back.
What shall give my life meaning
when absent from history’s books?
Does it matter or is it simple vainglory
the struggle for significance?
I suspect the latter.
Who will remember us tomorrow?
Not I my friend & not you either.
We are characters crossing paths in time.
I showed what courtesy I could.
True connection is remembering
what we share to answer the question —
how do mind & heart merge?
Are there words to say never leave home —
stay put? We ignore them in any case
for travel we must down long winding paths.
I will cast back & gather fishes —
ask forgiveness from those I drowned
or failed to put back. In deep meditation
I heard the cries of lovers who came solely
to shake me up. We are victims only
of forgetting. Soon you will remember
shed tears of blessed relief — for suddenly
it’s over & again we gather round the hearth.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
