Kategorie-Archiv: Poetry

Philip Larkin: This Be The Verse

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

William Shakespeare: “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow“

(from Macbeth, spoken by Macbeth)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

 

Morgen, und Morgen, und Morgen kriecht in seinem Pygmäen-Schritt von einem Tag zum andern; alle unsre Gestern haben buntschekigte Narren, die auf dem Wege des Todes vor ihnen her gaukeln. Aus, aus, kleine Kerze! Leben ist nur ein wandelnder Schatten, ein armer Schauspieler, der seine Stunde lang auf dem Schauplaze sich spreißt, und ein grosses Wesen macht, und dann nicht mehr bemerkt wird. Es ist ein Mährchen, das ein Dummkopf erzählt, voll Schall und Bombast, aber ohne Sinn.

A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘First Sight’ — Interesting Literature

A summary of a classic Larkin poem ‘First Sight’ is a short poem written by Philip Larkin in 1956, and published in his 1964 collection The Whitsun Weddings. Unusually for Larkin, it is a rather upbeat poem, a beautiful lyric about the natural world. You can read ‘First Sight’ here; read on for our analysis […]

über A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘First Sight’ — Interesting Literature

Philip Larkin, „First Sight“

Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth’s immeasurable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.

A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘As Bad as a Mile’ — Interesting Literature

As Bad as a Mile

Watching the shied core

Striking the basket, skidding across the floor,

Shows less and less of luck, and more and more

 

Of failure spreading back up the arm

Earlier and earlier, the unraised hand calm,

The apple unbitten in the palm.

A summary of a short Larkin poem Philip Larkin wrote ‘As Bad as a Mile’ in February 1960, during one of his most productive periods of poetry-writing. It was published four years later in his volume The Whitsun Weddings. You can read ‘As Bad as a Mile’ here; what follows is our analysis of this […]

über A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘As Bad as a Mile’ — Interesting Literature

By Philip Larkin: This Be The Verse

Picture: Bruno Schulz

 

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

„Toads Revisited“ poem by Philip Larkin

Toads Revisited

Walking around in the park
Should feel better than work:
The lake, the sunshine,
The grass to lie on,

Blurred playground noises
Beyond black-stockinged nurses –
Not a bad place to be.
Yet it doesn’t suit me.

Being one of the men
You meet of an afternoon:
Palsied old step-takers,
Hare-eyed clerks with the jitters,

Waxed-fleshed out-patients
Still vague from accidents,
And characters in long coats
Deep in the litter-baskets –

All dodging the toad work
By being stupid or weak.
Think of being them!
Hearing the hours chime,

Watching the bread delivered,
The sun by clouds covered,
The children going home;
Think of being them,

Turning over their failures
By some bed of lobelias,
Nowhere to go but indoors,
Nor friends but empty chairs –

No, give me my in-tray,
My loaf-haired secretary,
My shall-I-keep-the-call-in-Sir:
What else can I answer,

When the lights come on at four
At the end of another year?
Give me your arm, old toad;
Help me down Cemetery Road.

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