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.

3 comments:

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.