Philip Larkin - Essential Beauty

Philip Larkin - Essential Beauty

In frames as large as rooms that face all ways br And block the ends of streets with giant loaves, br Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise br Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine br Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves br Of how life should be. High above the gutter br A silver knife sinks into golden butter, br A glass of milk stands in a meadow, and br Well-balanced families, in fine br Midsummer weather, owe their smiles, their cars, br Even their youth, to that small cube each hand br Stretches towards. These, and the deep armchairs br Aligned to cups at bedtime, radiant bars br (Gas or electric), quarter-profile cats br By slippers on warm mats, br Reflect none of the rained-on streets and squares br br They dominate outdoors. Rather, they rise br Serenely to proclaim pure crust, pure foam, br Pure coldness to our live imperfect eyes br That stare beyond this world, where nothing's made br As new or washed quite clean, seeking the home br All such inhabit. There, dark raftered pubs br Are filled with white-clothed ones from tennis-clubs, br And the boy puking his heart out in the Gents br Just missed them, as the pensioner paid br A halfpenny more for Granny Graveclothes' Tea br To taste old age, and dying smokers sense br Walking towards them through some dappled park br As if on water that unfocused she br No match lit up, nor drag ever brought near, br Who now stands newly clear, br Smiling, and recognising, and going dark.


User: PoemHunter.com

Views: 63

Uploaded: 2014-11-10

Duration: 02:03

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