Poetry

[McBif]

Just the other day I was listening to someone talking about how "deep and meaningful" he found the lyrics of the pop singer Neil Young. Not wanting to offend, I kept my thoughts to myself. But I was thinking: If you dig the evocations of words, why don't you read the poets? Is it so difficult? Or are you full of shit, my lazy friend?

 

I am quite fond of Philip Larkin. Here's a good one:

 

 

Dublinesque

 

Down stucco sidestreets,

Where light is pewter

And afternoon mist

Brings lights on in shops

Above race-guides and rosaries,

A funeral passes.

 

The hearse is ahead,

But after there follows

A troop of streetwalkers

In wide flowered hats,

Leg-of-mutton sleeves,

And ankle-length dresses.

 

There is an air of great friendliness,

As if they were honouring

One they were fond of;

Some caper a few steps,

Skirts held skilfully

(Someone claps time),

 

And of great sadness also.

As they wend away

A voice is heard singing

Of Kitty, or Katy,

As if the name meant once

All love, all beauty.

 

 

[SiLeakHunt]

I can't remember the full poem but Larkin wrote one that goes along the lines of

 

"They fuck you up your mam and dad..........."

 

Brilliant

 

Cheers

[Julian2]

Bit more Larkin,

 

Next year we are to bring the soldiers home

 

For lack of money, and it is all right.

 

Places they guarded, or kept orderly,

 

Must guard themselves, and keep themselves orderly.

We want the money for ourselves at home

 

Instead of working. And this is all right.

 

 

 

It's hard to say who wanted it to happen,

 

But now it's been decided nobody minds.

 

The places are a long way off, not here,

Which is all right, and from what we hear

The soldiers there only made trouble happen.

Next year we shall be easier in our minds.

 

 

 

Next year we shall be living in a country

 

That brought its soldiers home for lack of money.

The statues will be standing in the same

Tree-muffled squares, and look nearly the same.

 

Our children will not know it's a different country.

All we can hope to leave them now is money.

 

Philip Larkin

 

From High Windows 1974

[Julian2]

And I wont pretend I never had to to a google on it.

 

Philip Larkin - 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.

 

 

[SiLeakHunt]

The very same one I was thinking about. Be a good idea to frame it and hawk it round vasectomy clinics.

 

Cheers