What are days for? Days are where we live. — Philip Larkin, from “Days,” The Whitsun Weddings. (Faber & Faber; Later Printing edition January 1971) Originally published 1964.
What will survive of us is love. — Philip Larkin, from “An Arundel Tomb,” The Whitsun Weddings. (Faber & Faber; Later Printing edition January 1971) Originally published 1964.
They say eyes clear with age, As dew clarifies air To sharpen evenings, As if time put an edge Round the last shape of things To show them there; The many-levelled trees, To long soft tides of grass Wrinkling away the gold Wind-ridden waves—all these, They say, come back into focus As we grow old.… Continue reading Philip Larkin
What will survive of us is love. — Philip Larkin, from “An Arundel Tomb”, Collected Poems. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; American ed edition April 1, 2004) Originally published October 10th 1988.
The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time. — Philip Larkin, from “The Mower,” Collected Poems (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2001) Originally published October 10th 1988.
This is the first thing I have understood: Time is the echo of an axe Within a wood. — Philip Larkin, “XXVI,” The North Ship. (Faber & Faber; New edition edition April 1974) Originally published April 1966.
Loneliness clarifies. Here silence stands Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken, Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken, Luminously-peopled air ascends; And past the poppies bluish neutral distance Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence: Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.” ― Philip Larkin, from “Here,” The… Continue reading Philip Larkin
It will be spring soon— And I, whose childhood Is a forgotten boredom, Feel like a child Who comes on a scene Of adult reconciling, And can understand nothing But the unusual laughter, And starts to be happy. Philip Larkin, from “Coming,” Collected Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2003)
Aubade I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what’s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid… Continue reading Philip Larkin
Love, We Must Part Now Love, we must part now: do not let it be Calamitious and bitter. In the past There has been too much moonlight and self-pity: Let us have done with it: for now at last Never has sun more boldly paced the sky, Never were hearts more eager to be free,… Continue reading Philip Larkin