Home is so sad.
It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back.
Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase
-Philip Larkin
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Oh I like this one a lot. Philip Larkin is one of my very favoruite poets. I love "Talking in bed" best:
Talking in bed ought to be easiest,
Lying together there goes back so far,
An emblem of two people being honest.
Yet more and more time passes silently.
Outside, the wind's incomplete unrest
Builds and disperses clouds in the sky,
And dark towns heap up on the horizon.
None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why
At this unique distance from isolation
It becomes still more difficult to find
Words at once true and kind,
Or not untrue and not unkind.
I've read it once before, and like it too. I'm not yet sure what I think of Philip Larkin in general. I've only just begun to read some of his poems.
hi there,
I have just received your package from the Alphabet Swap and I wanted to say thank you! It was quite nice, the tea and E-shaped chocolate (was delicious) and the book of your poems I will read when done with the next draft of my thesis...like a reward! Thanks again.
Post a Comment