The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock Animation
Вставка
- Опубліковано 21 сер 2024
- This is an Animation and Motion Illustration Final project for our World Literature Class (2013)
(ABRIDGED VERSION OF THE POEM)
Creative Team:
Patty Arroyo [ / _pattyarroyoart ]
Hannah Gayapa [ / hannahgayapaart ]
Janine Mojica
Arvin Gagui (1996-2019, in memory of our forever young beloved friend who was a really good Artist)
Credits to T.S. Eliot's self poem reading
and song Sur Le Fil by Yann Tiersen used in the credits
such a good rendition. the animation really helps the reader/listener get the mood and message of the poem. it goes so perfectly with TS Elliot's reading tone. really beautiful, much appreciated.
Thank you for the wonderful feedback :D
and what is the message of the poem?
What a meaningful animation. English is not my first language and i was struggling to imagine everything that was happening. This is beautiful, like life.
You should use the same tense before and after the connector "AND".
@@wasimakramht Did she ask you an advice about how to use tenses? Keep it to yourself!!! Idt
@@AgnesKelvedon And did she ask you to reply me on behalf of her? You also keep your opinion to yourself, Idt!
@@wasimakramht No, I don't need somebody asking me to defend people from impolite ones who intrude their perfectly sweet comment. Keep your fragile ego to yourself, nobody needs your poor ass grammar!
I love that you were able to visually articulate and interpret this poem. It highlighted details I missed, and it reworked ideas I thought I had down solid. With a poem, all ideas are slippery and impermanent, I should have known. The second you hear what someone else thinks, you start the old mind gears into motion and suddenly the whole thing comes alive with new meanings you were blind to.
I find this video very useful in understanding this poem. Thanks a lot!
I hope you enjoyed making this as much as your audience loved it! Incredible work
"I should have been in pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas" now gets to me. If you've been a nerd like I have been, this poem really tugs at your heart strings when you're old.
oh my god, I am so glad that I am not the only one. I specifically highlighted that line in my poetry book. I related to it so well :)
So does the line :"I grow old, I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled"...
"...how should I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways, and how should I presume..." This line speaks to me when I have to engage in the social convention of trivial small talk. Or when meeting someone for the first time, how should I presume to communicate to them who I actually am?
And 'do I dare disturb the universe'?
Great stuff, I’m a 31 year old man and already I’m starting to understand prufock more and more, sad stuff.
I feel yah 😣😔
31 is not an age, dear
in my idea, to understand him is to do nothing with the age. we are all him
The animation’s actually so unexpectedly good for a such a small team. Sad to hear of your friend’s passing. Hope you’re all doing well so many years later
Thank you!
The sparkles big bang explosion ruined it, but was overall good.
There was time when i read this poem for exam and there is a time now when i actually coming back to this. somehow depicting the life and making more meaning day by day.😴
So true, I feel you
His reading was melodic
T.S. Eliot was a lyricist. I could sing this poem like a song. I bet someone already has. ♥️
Man you don't know what you have did,
Thanks now I can understand the whole story ❤️
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.
this is amazing . great work , thank you
This is a dope animation
Thank you!
Oh that's awesome. Plz Do some more work like this. That was so absorbing
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.
Thank you so f much 😢❤
This was just beautiful...
Absolute Masterpiece
Despair . Does the condition of the guy make you feel good?
His dress, his health , his head with a round hairless patch ...
I feel so sad.
Amazing work!
Superb illustration ✌
well i wan in hunt of this poem for our 5th semester exam
and look what i got
A MASTERPEICE
thank you for visuals
This.......... is really good 🙂👍
Thank you!
It really good, because it sound like a story on a radio
Excellent presentation ❤
This is so good and really helped me for my American Literature class. Thank you!
Brilliant! Thank you so much!
Well done. Impressive. Congratulations.
wow what a video! soo good! This poem is one of the best of modern era. one of my fav too!🧡
This is AMAZINGG! Loved it!
i feel so sad after watching this
This is very nicely done.
Thank you!
Incredible ❤️
Great work!!
Thank you for this amazing video! 👏 I love
can we all just appreciate how big that cat's butt was! lol l
overall this was amazingly animated well done
nice work
Thanks!
I LOOOOOOVE this!
Good job, very helpful!
this video made my essay about this hard to understand peom way much easier! thanks alot
That is great! You are welcome!
Love it !!❤❤
Thanks!
Thank you...its really very helpful. sty blessed :)
Need this type videos more..it’s help me for my xm
Just amazing 👍😎
love this!!
Worthy to watch feel statisfy to spend my 5 min
Very good.
Just amazing 🤩
Wow nice animation
Just amazing
Good intro!
Maaan, this is DOPE
This video is really helpful to me
Thank you 🙏🙏🙏
This video actually made me like the poem lol thanks
Outstanding
Excellent, helped me read it
Wow... Great
this is soooooooooooooooo amazing
Who is doing the voice over work here? Very nice
t.s eliot i believe
It's simply amazing
Thanks!
Thank you.
amazing
Thank you!
Amazing thank you 😊
Niceee yaa
Literally me
ذكرى طالب انكليزي من جامعة الموصل/ للعلوم الانسانية مرحلة رابعه 🫂🤍
❤️
So nice
this is sweet
Nice animation
excellent
🙏
❤💙💜
Oof - why did you leave so many lines out? Great animation but I’m perplexed.
Since it's for a short animation which already takes time to do, it's an abridged version of the poem.
Hey, Can I use some part of your video in my UA-cam channel for explanation purpose?🙏🙏🙏 Please
poems like this are confusing. like, what does he want? why can't he get it?
what did you use to create this video ? I need to create a video also
Is the love-song is the song of mermaids that he thinks they won’t sing for him?
Wow
Is this Prufrock with the 'unnecessary' bits cut out?
Why the gaps? Why miss out verses?
+Mick Maphari because it takes a lot of time to do an Animation, so we had to do an abridged version
Pls give a english title pls
Sir i am from india, and u?
Where tf are my answers for my schoolwork
Nice but there are lines missing
Yes, because as stated in the description, it's an abridged version to make the animation production shorter.
Poor him
I see what you did here...
The animation isnt very subtle and explosion ruins it, and there are sections of poem missing. Bits of the animation are very good though.
May i talk to you
I like the mood but this is too literal. Have you heard of the term 'Lord Privy Seal'?
Ohh...god....... No ... courage to purpose her beloved 😬 lack of confidence......ohh poor man .....you show the condition of modern man !
😢😢 i dont like this because i don't understand
awful audio!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
it is read by TS Elliot himself. Why is that awful?
boring.
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.
May i talk to you