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Collected Poems ❰EPUB❯ ✴ Collected Poems Author Philip Larkin – One of the best known and best loved poets of the English speaking world Philip Larkin had only a small number of his poems published during his lifetime Collected Poems brings together not only all h One of the best known and best loved poets of the English speaking world Philip Larkin had only a small number of his poems published during his lifetime Collected Poems brings together not only all his books The North Ship The Less Deceived The Whitsun Weddings and High Windows but also his unCollected Poems from to This new edition reflects Larkin's own ordering for his poems and is the first collection to present the body of his work with the organization he preferred Preserving everything he published in his lifetime the new Collected Poems is an indispensable contribution to the legacy of an icon of twentieth century poetry.

About the Author: Philip Larkin

Philip Arthur Larkin CH CBE FRSL was an English poet novelist and jazz critic He spent his working life as a university librarian and was offered the Poet Laureateship following the death of John Betjeman but declined the post Larkin is commonly regarded as one of the greatest English poets of the latter half of the twentieth century He first came to prominence with the release of his thi.

10 thoughts on “Collected Poems

  1. Paul Bryant Paul Bryant says:

    Most of the time I’m not much for poetry it’s just so precious and thinks a lot of itself it swanks around preening and sneeringMost of the time this is my kind of poetry There's a tugboat down by the riverWhere a cement bag’s just a droopin' on downOh that cement is just for the weight dearFive'll get you ten old Mack is back in town Louis Armstrongor A candy colored clown they call the sandmanTiptoes to my room every nightJust to sprinkle stardust and to whisper“Go to sleep everything is all right” Roy Orbisonor Well I’m not the world’s most physical guyBut when she sueezed me tight she nearly broke my spineOh my Lola lo lo lo lo la Lola The KinksI get my poetry from the grooves of old 45s from the howls of old blues from surfers and hotrodders punks and acidheads and proggers and cowboys and from the antiue antic folk with their 75 verse ballads about some duke who shagged some other duke’s betrothed and got the heat rained down on his ass and his kith’s ass in 1355 But just occasionally an actual poet comes and does something completely magical with words So I’m reading through Philip Larkin’s stuff and finding I really like his sour defeated depressed but soldiering on anyway voice This one that i want to uote here is I suppose his biggest hit but uite right too – it’s really a fantastic piece Every phrase is a marvel exactly sketching out all the banalities of an English train journey in the 1950s and now but then also unearthing a forgotten almost unnoticed social ritual which is completely a 50s thing uaint and moving Nowadays every other couple get married in Barbados or Bali and the other ones wouldn’t be caught dead using public transport to start their honeymoon with Whitsun is the seventh Sunday after Easter As both are moveable feasts that information is not so useful but it happens in late May In these secular times hardly anyone in England would have the faintest idea what a Whitsun was It was changed into “Spring Bank Holiday” in 1978The Whitsun Weddings by Philip Larkin 1958That Whitsun I was late getting awayNot till about one twenty on the sunlit SaturdayDid my three uarters empty train pull outAll windows down all cushions hot all senseOf being in a hurry gone We ranBehind the backs of houses crossed a streetOf blinding windscreens smelt the fish dock; thenceThe river's level drifting breadth beganWhere sky and Lincolnshire and water meetAll afternoon through the tall heat that slept For miles inlandA slow and stopping curve southwards we keptWide farms went by short shadowed cattle andCanals with floatings of industrial froth;A hothouse flashed uniuely hedges dippedAnd rose and now and then a smell of grassDisplaced the reek of buttoned carriage clothUntil the next town new and nondescriptApproached with acres of dismantled carsAt first I didn't notice what a noise The weddings madeEach station that we stopped at sun destroysThe interest of what's happening in the shadeAnd down the long cool platforms whoops and skirlsI took for porters larking with the mailsAnd went on reading Once we started thoughWe passed them grinning and pomaded girlsIn parodies of fashion heels and veilsAll posed irresolutely watching us goAs if out on the end of an event Waving goodbyeTo something that survived it Struck I leantMore promptly out next time curiouslyAnd saw it all again in different termsThe fathers with broad belts under their suitsAnd seamy foreheads; mothers loud and fat;An uncle shouting smut; and then the permsThe nylon gloves and jewellery substitutesThe lemons mauves and olive ochres thatMarked off the girls unreally from the rest Yes from cafésAnd banuet halls up yards and bunting dressedCoach party annexes the wedding daysWere coming to an end All down the lineFresh couples climbed aboard the rest stood round;The last confetti and advice were thrownAnd as we moved each face seemed to defineJust what it saw departing children frownedAt something dull; fathers had never knownSuccess so huge and wholly farcical; The women sharedThe secret like a happy funeral;While girls gripping their handbags tighter staredAt a religious wounding Free at lastAnd loaded with the sum of all they sawWe hurried towards London shuffling gouts of steamNow fields were building plots and poplars castLong shadows over major roads and forSome fifty minutes that in time would seemJust long enough to settle hats and say I nearly diedA dozen marriages got under wayThey watched the landscape sitting side by side An Odeon went past a cooling tower Andsomeone running up to bowl and noneThought of the others they would never meetOr how their lives would all contain this hourI thought of London spread out in the sunIts postal districts packed like suares of wheatThere we were aimed And as we raced across Bright knots of railPast standing Pullmans walls of blackened mossCame close and it was nearly done this frailTravelling coincidence; and what it heldstood ready to be loosed with all the powerThat being changed can give We slowed againAnd as the tightened brakes took hold there swelledA sense of falling like an arrow showerSent out of sight somewhere becoming rain

  2. Riku Sayuj Riku Sayuj says:

    Simple uncomplicated poetry It is no wonder that Larkin is one of the best loved poets He never tries to hide anything behind his words his words and his poetry are all in so to speak I need to read the properly arranged version but this was a good startFavorite“Best Society” by Philip LarkinWhen I was a child I thoughtCasually that solitudeNever needed to be soughtSomething everybody hadLike nakedness it lay at handNot specially right or specially wrongA plentiful and obvious thingNot at all hard to understandThen after twenty it becameAt once difficult to getAnd desired — though all the sameMore undesirable; for whatYou are alone has to achieveThe rank of fact to be expressedIn terms of others or it’s justA compensating make believeMuch better stay in companyTo love you must have someone elseGiving reuires a legateeGood neighbours need whole parishfulsOf folk to do it on — in shortOur virtues are all social; ifDeprived of solitude you chafeIt’s clear you’re not the virtuous sortViciously then I lock my doorThe gas fire breathes The wind outsideUshers in evening rain Once Uncontradicting solitudeSupports me on its giant palm;And like a sea anemoneOr simple snail there cautiouslyUnfolds emerges what I am1951

  3. Petra-X Petra-X says:

    Read Emir Never's comment Clever manThey 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 youBut 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 throatsMan hands on misery to man It deepens like a coastal shelfGet out as early as you can And don’t have any kids yourselfEdit

  4. Jay Pluck Jay Pluck says:

    When people say they don't like Larkin I wonder what the fck they read that they didn't like

  5. Megan Baxter Megan Baxter says:

    I fully admit that I know very little about poetry Very little But what I've now read of Philip Larkin's work really didn't grab me at all At times it irritated the heck out of me This started with a nasty little poem called To My Wife and never really went away Also as far as I could tell he never marriedNote The rest of this review has been withdrawn due to the changes in Goodreads policy and enforcement You can read why I came to this decision hereIn the meantime you can read the entire review at Smorgasbook

  6. ἀρχαῖος (arkhaîos)(RK) ἀρχαῖος (arkhaîos)(RK) says:

    First a big thank you to Tilly for including Larkin’s 'Lines on a Young Lady's Photograph Album’ in her review of this book After decades of having a baseless bias against Larkin probably just his name and time I sat down and read his collected poems a wonderful readThe initial challenge was to decide how best to read these poems I finally decided on reading out loud not easily done in a busy household in order best to catch the rhythms and rhymes It was also necessary to read these poems with tongue placed firmly in cheek the better to catch the often present irony To miss Larkin’s irony is to misunderstand much of his meaning However not all is ironic There is also a great deal of loneliness dissatisfaction with the contemporary social order and appreciation of many aspects of his English heritage It all comes down to discovering the moodLarkin was not a simple poet He studied the world around him the inner worlds of his contemporaries and his own inner contradictions He also liked to put forward images which did not always let the reader know where he was going until they had committed to a close reading It is often like watching over an artist’s shoulder as she begins to sketch in a scene then moves on one colour at a time until only slowly does the image take form as in essential beautyIn frames as large as rooms that face all waysAnd block the ends of streets with giant loavesOf motor oil and cuts of salmon shinePerpetually these sharply pictured grovesOf how life should be High above the gutterA silver knife sinks into golden butterA glass of milk stands in a meadow andWell balanced families in fineMid summer weather owe their smiles their carsEven their youth to that small cube each handStretches towards These and the deep armchairsAligned to cups at bedtime radiant barsGas or electric uarter profile catsBy slippers on warm matsReflect none of the rained on streets an suaresThey dominate outdoors That we are looking at billboards here was not immediately obvious to me but once I happily saw the images coming together I could not help but see them The book follows Larkin his poetry and English society from the 1940s through to the 1980s The social changes during the 60s and 70s were immense and Larkin reflects them with interest regret at what he has missed and at what is lost as well as with a certain gentle understanding and empathy In his first publication The North Ship July 1945 at poem XX he watches “a girl dragged by the wristsAcross a dazzling field of snow” “she laughs and struggles and pretends to fight;” He is filled with envy and regret that he cannot be like her laughing and playing in the snow Instead”For me the task’s to learn the many times When I must stoop and throw a shovelful;”From High Windows 1974 we getWhen I see a couple of kidsAnd guess he’s fucking her and she’sTaking pills or wearing a diaphragmI know this is paradiseEveryone old has dreamed of all their lives The bitter envy of 1945 has been replaced with a feeling of sorrow that the poet has missed out on something The regret is sadder gentler empathetic than 20 years earlier One also gets the sense that Larkin felt a certain thrill at putting into print the words “he’s fucking her” for the first time Society has changed and Larkin has tried to express himself freely enjoying a certain liberation with the times This movement with the changes in society is seen throughout Larkin’s poemsI shall end this review now with 'Annus Mirabilis' a poem I think reveals great deal about Larkin and his world even if he did overestimate the effects of the so called ‘sexual revolution’ although I do recall thinking back then that we had invented sexual intercourse For best results read out loudSexual intercourse beganIn nineteen sixty threeWhich was rather late for me –Between the end of the Chatterley banAnd the Beatles’ first LPUp until then there’d only beenA sort of bargainingA wrangle for a ringA shame that started at sixteenAnd spread to everythingThen all at once the uarrel sankEveryone felt the sameAnd every life becameA brilliant breaking of the bankA uite unlosable gameSo life was never better thanIn nineteen sixty threeThough just too late for me –Between the end of the Chatterley banAnd the Beatles’ first LPPhilip Larkin was a poet who understood himself in all of his loneliness despair and his all too human disgust with himself along with a scattering of self pity but who constantly saw the rest of humanity with an empathetic eye even when he expressed this empathy with a cynical tongue

  7. Steven Godin Steven Godin says:

    Favourites Places Loved OnesMaiden NameNo RoadTriple TimeLatest FaceI Remember I Remember If My DarlingLove Songs in AgeTalking in BedDublinesueLATEST FACELatest face so effortlessYour great arrival at my eyesNo one standing near could guessYour beauty had no home til then;Precious vagrant recognise My look and do not turn againAdmirer and admired embraceOn a useless level whereI contain your current graceYou my judgment; yet to moveInto really untidy airBrings no lasting attributeBargains suffering and loveNot this always planned saluteLies grow dark around us willThe statue of your beauty walk?Must I wade behind it tillSomething's found or is not found Far too late for turning back?Or if I will not shift my groundIs your power actual canDenial of you duck and runStay out sight and double roundLeap from the sun with mask and brandAnd murder and not understand?

  8. Nathaniel Nathaniel says:

    Because the section of Larkin's Early Poems makes the final third of this collection a rather unrewarding slog Collected Poems sat on my currently reading shelf for nearly a year Then I decided that I didn't need to read every one of the poems that Larkin himself downplayed and shuffled from the spotlight in order to consider this book read I read it from page 3 to page 221 and now and then in disappointed little moments I read bits of the final hundred pagesBefore I try describing Larkin's poetry and try understanding why I like him let me devote a few sentences to people with less time Read Solar; The Building; The Old Fools; and Aubade These are longer poems crafted around Larkin's favorite themes in some of his best language They are sharp entertaining acidic and reduced If you don't enjoy them I don't think you should bother with Larkin's shorter less thoughtful and often mopier pieces After these if you still have a taste try reading If My Darling; At thirty one when some are rich; Lines on a Young Lady's Photograph Album and Dockery and Son From there I think it is all downhill not far and not horribly; but downhill nonethelessOften Larkin's poems proceed in relatively normal narrative English only to reach their justification in well condensed phrases that seem to resonate with existential despair stumbling up the breathless stair To burst into fulfillment's desolate atticsat through days of thin continuous dreaming;or of Religion That vast moth eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never dieHe has a knack for reducing things for articulating the non participant's curmudgeonly perspective complete with well deployed informal profanity He atomizes adornment ceremony and cheerfulness holding them by the tips of his fingers as if they reekIt entertains me that he describes three married couples as follows Adder faced singularityEspouses a nailed up childhoodSkin disease pardonsSoft horror of livingA gabble is forgiven By chronic solitudeIt entertains me because it is typical of him to reduce people to their worst and typical that he goes on to rob these unions of their romance by depicting them all tarnishing at uiet anchor In Larkin's poetry context will always get you in the end Senility beckons death looms promises are already breaking and every man outmaneuvers himself in an effort to avoid the fear of all that is failed and meaninglessStill it's good fun He's one of the most winning grouches I remember reading and was probably an excellent drunk

  9. Manny Manny says:

    I was given a copy of this book by my parents No really I am not making this up I'm afraid I'm still in shock may have a comment by 2011 if the therapy works out

  10. Stephanie Sun Stephanie Sun says:

    Philip Larkin seemed to be everywhere in 2011 and 2012 Annus Mirabilis figured prominently in Julian Barnes's novel The Sense of an Ending so much so that critical analysis of Larkin took over a good portion of Colm Toibin's review of that Booker Prize winning novella in The New York Review of Books Philip Larkin has an unfinished poem from the early 1960s called “The Dance” in which the main character “in the darkening mirror seesThe shame of evening trousers evening tie” and then on arrival in the dancehall finds himself edging “along the noiseTowards a trestled bar lacking the poiseTo look about me” He soon wonders what he is doing in public at all when he could be “really drinking or in bedOr listening to records” When he sees the object of his desire he wishes “desperately for ualitiesMoments like this demand and which I lack” Later he feels “How rightI should have been to keep away” The poem enacts a strange awkward and deeply felt melancholy but the tone the phrasing the use of stanza form and rhyme are controlled almost magisterial While the self is in retreat the poem is full of command While the poem is oddly consoling the self is unconsoled This unresolved tension gives Larkin’s poems the same insistent and ambiguous power that we find in Barnes’s fictionIt is strange how much Larkin’s images of disillusion fear and self betrayal have come to seem communal rather than personal how the England he imagined—the drinking the absences the lost love and the daily dread—have etched themselves into the general image of things Thus many writers who dramatize English life have to tackle not only the substance of the world they inhabit or imagine but the persistent shadows that Larkin left While this has happened elsewhere—in Burns’s Scotland for example or Whitman’s America or Yeats’s Ireland—it has come as a release or a way of opening up the world In the case of Larkin’s England it comes with the sense of an ending or as he put it at the conclusion of “The Whitsun Weddings” “somewhere becoming rain” The ending lines of The Whitsun Weddings were also the subject famously of one of Ian McEwan and Christopher Hitchens' last conversations I set the poem up and read it and when I reached that celebrated end “A sense of falling like an arrow showerSent out of sight somewhere becoming rain’ Christopher murmured from his bed “That’s so dark so horribly dark” I disagreed and not out of any wish to lighten his mood Surely the train journey comes to an end the recently married couples are dispatched toward their separate fates He wouldn’t have it and a week later when I was back in London we were still exchanging e mails on the subject One of his began “Dearest Ian Well indeed – no rain no gain – but it still depends on how much anthropomorphizing Larkin is doing with his unconscious I’d provisionally surmise that “somewhere becoming rain” is unpromising’ I bought Collected Poems shortly after reading that Toibin review I read all of the famous ones The Whitsun Weddings Lines on a Young Lady's Photograph Album Annus Mirabilis Dockery and Son; made a few discoveries of my own Sad Steps Nursery Tale; and then shelved it with my small collection of poetry booksReading it front to back over the course of this past week and a half and shortly after reading the disappointing Time and Materials by Larkin antimatter Robert Hass one is struck by both the monumentality of formal accomplishment and the almost laughably bleak outlook Larkin's glass is not only half empty the part that is not empty is soon to be empty and anyone who thinks otherwise is a vapid nobody blinding themselves to TruthSometimes this combination of to steal from Toibin consoling form and unconsoled message can be delicious as in the 1951 poem which is sardonically titled Next Please and depicts the promise of the future as a distant armada Flagged and the figurehead with golden titsArching our way it never anchors; it'sNo sooner present than it turns to pastRight to the lastWe think each one will heave to and unloadAll good into our lives all we are owedFor waiting so devoutly and so longBut we are wrongOnly one ship is seeking us a black Sailed unfamiliar towing at her backA huge and birdless silence In her wakeNo waters breed or break The gold titted mirage of the armada and the single ship hunting us Like Google Larkin at his best makes genius look easyBut he is TOO MUCH Here is the blessing he gives to his friend's baby May you be ordinaryHave like other womenAn average of talentsNot ugly not good lookingNothing uncustomaryTo pull you off your balance Here is what a box of kittens for sale makes him think of Living toys are something novelBut it soon wears off somehowFetch the shoebox fetch the shovel Mam we're playing funerals now In a ponderous poem about the ponderousness of pillow talk he rhymes kind and unkind that's how much post coital conversation pained him A kitschy street advertisement for a beach town becomes a symbol of absolute decay in Sunny Prestatyn And when he closes his most famous book with the line What will survive of us is love there is no ambiguity such as divided McEwan and Hitchens over somewhere becoming rain It is the definition of irony hereI loved this book but it left me ironically wanting to run out into the world and embrace life and everything beautiful in it Because sometimes a box of kittens is just a box of kittens And rain? What do you think glasses get filled with in the first place?

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