Added: 5 years ago
From: DavidQuantick
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  • Living and being educated in Chichester gives me the opportunity to give this poem a much more eerie ring when you listen to it with headphones on, sitting in front of the Earl and Countess themselves...

  • 02.13 barely subdued half burp. Either that or he's swallowing a bit of biscuit.  I can picture it. The Master of Form with a packet of Rich Tea. I wonder who would win a fight. Mr McVitie or Mr Larkin. Mmm.

    I'm not allowed biscuits.

  • i love larkin in this as he is, for once, seemingly optiimistic. for once it's not about fucking

  • Actually it's trochaic tetrameter not iambic pentameter.

  • @jgilonis No, it's iambic tetrameter; it just happens that the first line is headless.

  • why would i get a grip? This is A-level work

  • An excellent piece of poetry.

  • i think that the sturdiness and perseverance of love can be represented by the iambic pentameter being conveyed throughout even during the break up in structure in the fifth stanza which represents the weathering of the stone tomb and of love itself - agree???

  • get a grip of yourself

  • "What will survive of us is love."

    I love that line.

  • i live in arundel =)

  • Larkin is quite simply, amazing.

  • One of my favourites too. The construction alone has me in complete awe. History is bunk - almost.

  • It's not sarcastic, the last line states a universal truth: we are energy when matter dies and that energy is love, light. There is light at the centre of our DNA, we are beings of light that the ancients always knew and quantum physics can now measure a photon travelling from our sun (via other suns) all the way along our meridien lines. Larkin was a sad man brought up in a silent and loveless home, his parents hardly spoke and this affected his own ability to be passionate.

  • I don't think the poem is necessarily about love though. The tomb was created for the couple to show their importance and power, not as a loving gesture. It's just our 20th century judgments that assume that it is a romantic token. The couple are stuck in the stone there, who knows if they want to be there or not.

  • Not romantic love - eternal love, of which we are all made, that energy, light, as I stated. I was referring to the final line in isolation which neatly summarises the philosophy I've had for over 40 years. The line was also quoted at a friend's funeral which was very apt.

  • But it's an ALMOST instinct, ALMOST true - in other words, it's so close to what we want, but it's not really true. It's just a judgement we presume the Earl and Countess shared, a notion which would have seemed unimportant against the preservation of their name and which may be utterly insignificant in the future.

  • Lie so long.

    It's not about love

  • I agree, if something is almost true, it is very close to the truth, but must still be false.

  • We are, however, allowed to make a judgement on the poem - about whether love is only an almost truth or if, indeed, it will endure. I quite like that leniancy which Larkin offers the reader.

  • truth is subjective and therefore cannot be examined critically, only speculated on, like science.

  • Comment removed

  • thats the thing he's questioning

  • im well lucky. i live right near chichester cathedral iv seen this tomb. they are in fact holding hands. and larkins poem is engraved on a plaque next to it.

  • This poem is amazing.

    But I am not sure about the final line, is it a sarcastic outlook on love, or does he truly believe the tomb resembled an everlasting love?

    I'm studying a selected collection of his work for English Literature.

    'The Explosion' is my other favourite of his.

  • Our almost-instinct almost true:

    What will survive of us is love.

    That pause...before "is love"... He so wishes to believe it; you can hear it in his voice. But there's no escaping the reality that "Time has transfigured them into / Untruth" and that the idea of love's endurance is only an "attitude".

    One of my faves, though I think I like 'Love Songs in Age' the most.

    *ambivalent sigh*

  • The word Blazon is the most wonderful thing. Remember that documentary in which Monica Jones was said to have suggested the word? I doubt it

  • Are you really only 19? Time lies stretched out before you...

  • This poem is a wonderful meditation on the passage of Time and the mystery of existence, and our brief appearance in it... Incidentally, this is the first time I've heard Larkin's voice and for some reason it's deeper and more 'posh' than I expected.

  • Larkin did study at Oxford. :-)

  • Yes, it's not quite the voice you'd imagine for Mr. Larkin of Hull- and sundry diversions. But I did read in a book of tributes to Larkin that he had a very pleasing voice. There's an American poet, Alan Dugan who, roughly like Larkin, made an art of the miserable and the pessimistic. But I heard Dugan read- and he sounded like his poems.

    This is a wonderful meditation. What is that poem of his in which he wakes and looks at the moon- one of his later classics, I believe.

  • Well, I had to look it up, it's "Sad Steps" - and it begins with the wonderfully down to earth, "Groping back to bed after a piss..."! LOL - the man had a sense of humour.

  • Thanks so much. He did have a sense of humor. And he is, for all his loneliness, rooted in the landscape and culture in which he lives. There is no philosophical posing, though the poems don't lack for a kind of wisdom.

  • also pun on the word "lie" and "sweet comissioned grace"

  • great! the images started to detract from the poem for me, so i turned away about halfway through.

  • yeah. I like making the images but would be happy to just post black screen.

  • always feel with Larkin that there was a damaged romantic straining to break out of the curmudgeonly armour he wore; makes his poems-especially this one-uniquely touching. Better than Aubade, there is hope here and a hint of a faith that he obviusly couldn't quite bring himself to wholeheartedly endorse.

    A truly brilliant poet, ta for posting!

  • That's a very good observation, about the hidden, damaged romanticism. On the surface a dull, disillusioned, solitary Brit, underneath a hesitant seeker of love and diviner of human truth.

  • disagree... that line is meant to be ironic.... people always remember that line... but ignore the one before?

  • wonderful. i was once asked to read this at a funeral.

    i didn't dare.

  • I have felt exactly the same way.

    But if you had dared, it would certainly have been beautiful.

  • Marvellous poem; and a great tomb and cathedral

  • 'bent double like old beggars under sacks'. That wasn't one of his but sounds like it almost could have been.

  • Wilfred Owen, if I remember correctly

  • You do NOT remember correctly.

  • jb1833, for your information: my earlier comment "Wilfred Owen, if I remember correctly" was a reply to the earlier comment "Bent double like old beggars under sacks" (I suggest you go look the comment up). Unfortunately, the reply didn't attach to the comment - in the same way that yours hasn't. Good grief! Did you HONESTLY think I was referring to this poem - that plainly states that it's Philip Larkin - and features Larkin himself reading his own poem?????

  • andrewshere - very sorry, i thought you were replying to the 'what's the poem about???' queestion. Of course didn't think you were confusing the poet, just the subject. You're absolutely right as well, the line you mention is from Wilfred Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum Est'. Sorry again, though you can see the non-attached posts don't help matters.

  • jb1833: my apologies,too, for sounding irate. Certainly the non-attached posts do not help.

  • I love how quickly both of you became angry and then back to polite.

  • I was never angry :-)

  • mmm, well I have to admit I was a little put out (ooh how sensitive!), but we're all pretty civilized in the poetry section :-)

  • I spy a marriage ahead...

  • This is lovely. Thanks.

  • Thanks for posting this. I've never heard him read his stuff before. A great poet he was too.

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