Monday, November 25, 2013

The poetry of departures

I came upon this poem by Philip Larkin that amuses me. It captures so well the way I myself feel torn at times between the itch to pack it all in and sail into the sunset after bold and grand adventures, and the love of home, where I do like being with my specially-chosen junk and books ... And how sometimes just knowing that we could is enough. (Pardoning a little crassness in the middle.)

Poetry of Departures
~by Philip Larkin

Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand,
As epitaph:
He chucked up everything
And just cleared off,
And always the voice will sound
Certain you approve 
This audacious, purifying,
Elemental move.

And they are right, I think.
We all hate home
And having to be there:
I detest my room,
Its specially-chosen junk,
The good books, the good bed,
And my life, in perfect order:
So to hear it said

He walked out on the whole crowd
Leaves me flushed and stirred,
Like Then she undid her dress
Or Take that you bastard;
Surely I can, if he did?
And that helps me stay
Sober and industrious.
But I'd go today,

Yes, swagger the nut-strewn roads,
Crouch in the fo'c'sle
Stubbly with goodness, if
It weren't so artificial,
Such a deliberate step backwards
To create an object:
Books; china; a life
Reprehensibly perfect.


Gordon Cheng said...

Nice! Fare well. Come back some time.

Jessica said...

So good. Thanks for finding and posting such good poetry all the time.

Ali said...

Apologies - I have had issues getting into blogger at work lately, but thanks Gordon! I haven't gone so far ...

And it is my pleasure (truly) Jess! This one is good though isn't it. I think I need some more Philip Larkin in my life.