A Short Analysis of T. S. Eliot’s ‘Preludes’
A summary of a classic early Eliot poem
‘Preludes’ is a series of four short poems written by T. S. Eliot early in his career and published in his first collection, Prufrock and Other Observations, in 1917. In the following post we intend to sketch out a brief summary and analysis of ‘Preludes’, exploring the meaning of these short masterpieces and their significance for Eliot’s later poetry. You can read ‘Preludes’ here.
The first place to start with a summary of ‘Preludes’ is with the title. Eliot, who would effectively end his poetry career with a long work named Four Quartets, was fond of musical titles for his poems. A ‘prelude’ – literally ‘before the play’ – is a brief musical composition that is played before the main piece. This suggests that these poems are small-scale: as well as being short, they are seeking to capture something small, in this case the details of everyday urban living. However, the times of day at which the four short poems that make up ‘Preludes’ take place suggest another meaning: the events and scenes described in ‘Preludes’ are, in a sense, building up to something, and are merely warm-ups to something bigger – such as getting ready to go to work in the morning.
What follows is a brief summary and analysis of ‘Preludes’. The first poem is set on a winter evening at six o’clock. We are treated to the sights, sounds, and smells of this evening: the smell of the dinners being cooked in nearby restaurants, the rain showering down on the chimney-pots of the houses, the wind blowing the fallen leaves and discarded newspapers across the street. This opening poem concludes with the coming of night and the lighting of the streetlamps.
The second poem takes place in the morning, when people are rising from bed and trudging to work, stopping at ‘coffee-stands’ for a pick-me-up on the way. There is still a faint smell of stale beer, a reminder of the previous night’s barroom goings-on. Countless people all over the town or city are getting ready to resume the ‘masquerades’ of daily life: work, school, and the like. The poem’s speaker imagines all of the people raising the ‘dingy shades’ in their ‘furnished rooms’ (i.e. rented rooms, implying that they’re possibly also squalid and cheap) to let in the morning light.
The third poem changes tack a little, and rather than using the first or third person the speaker addresses us directly using the second-person ‘you’. This time, the focus is on lying awake at night, unable to sleep (tossing the blanket off you is a nice touch: who hasn’t done this in frustration when plagued by insomnia?), watching the night revealing all the ‘sordid images’ lying deep inside the mind. This is a wonderful evocation of the way the mind becomes awash with horrible images when we can’t sleep. Sleep continues to elude us, and then it’s morning, the light reappearing and the sparrows chirping outside. We are then treated to the most remarkable pair of lines in the whole of ‘Preludes’: how can the street understand our vision of it? One possible way to interpret this is to say that, when we’ve been kept up all night by unpleasant thoughts, we feel different about the world outside: while everyone else now stepping out into the street has been blissfully ignorant and asleep, we’ve been on a dark night of the soul, and feel we have come to see the world for what it really is. And then, one must get up and get ready for work anyway, despite the sleepless night, taking the paper from one’s hair (it’s been in curlers all night) or massaging one’s feet ready to begin the walk to work again.
The fourth and final poem returns to the evening for its setting: we get the bizarre, Laforgue-inspired image of ‘His’ soul ‘stretched tight across the skies’: God’s, perhaps, whom the modern material world has forgotten in its impatience to get on with the tasks and chores of day-to-day living? This would make sense if we interpret the ‘soul’ stretched across the evening skies as a reference to the sunset. But this soul is also trampled beneath the ‘insistent feet’ of people heading home from work. The world is full of impatient activity and people striding confidently about their business: men stuffing their pipes, reading the evening papers, eyes looking sure of themselves. The street is corrupted, ‘blackened’ by pollution and industrialisation but also black in a more abstract, metaphorical way. But amongst all this, the speaker of the poem is ‘moved by fancies’ that can be found curled around these sordid urban images: some being who is gentle and suffering ‘infinitely’. But before he can get too romantically sentimental about this, the speaker seems to straighten himself up and clear his throat and recollect himself: you have to laugh. The poem then ends with the bizarre image of these different worlds inhabited by people revolving ‘like ancient women’ who are gathering fuel ‘in vacant lots’.
Things don’t change, the world keeps turning, things largely remain constant. There seems to be little escape from the everyday urban life of drudgery: you get up, you go to work, you come home, you sleep (or try to), you do it all again the next day. This picture of urban life makes ‘Preludes’ an important precursor – indeed, prelude – to T. S. Eliot’s later poem The Waste Land.
Continue to explore great poetry about particular times of the day with these classic evening poems and these wonderful morning poems. For more modernist urban-themed poetry, read our discussion of Ezra Pound’s Imagist masterpiece, ‘In a Station of the Metro’.
Image: T. S. Eliot (picture credit: Ellie Koczela), Wikimedia Commons.