A Long Road

 

Feeling a tad mortal today, for reasons various and vicarious. A visit to see an old friend of forty-odd years in his care home, yesterday, brings life and its brevity into sharp focus. We have together seen off so many other friends, family and colleagues in those four plus decades that it seems almost alien that, at this last, the core of our circle is, also, crumbling.

What I will offer, is the first stanza from his favourite poem: T.S Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. The volume of Eliot's collected works I draw from was owned by one of my lecturers at Bangor University (then UCNW) where I studied postgraduate linguistics: Mike Anthony, who was a force of nature with an unfortunate congenital heart issue that struck him down far too young.

Here's Prufrock, as Alan used to like to read over dinner - so many meals shared over the decades - so much wine drunk and so many cigars smoked, so much laughter...

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

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.