All About Books discussion

Next, Please

Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,

Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear,
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!

Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,

Flagged, and the figurehead with golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it’s
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last

We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:

Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.

Philip Larkin

Like this one Terri - good advice delivered beautifully .. an abstract concept made pleasingly tactile. The last two lines are my favorite, but I like the whole poem.

How right he is!

Great poem. I enjoy Larkin but I hadn't read this one begins

Before rather than begins!

I discovered Larkin when my sister studied his poetry alongside Sylvia Plath, though I don't think I came across this poem.

It is a great poem but one I felt like I have read before, what I read from the poem is someone rushing through their life and not slowing down for life's little pleasures. I think it is theme Larkin has explored quite a few times through his poetry. Great choice, Terri.

Words to live by. Love this one Terri.

How powerfully true is this poem; sadly how lots of us live.

Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!

Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks

Great imagery. Thank you, Terri, for introducing me to a poet I will definitely study.

What a lovely poem!!!!

No sooner present than it turns to past.

That line alone is another poem.

I'm intensely moved by this poem. Thanks Terri, for sharing it.

I've always loved Larkin but haven't come across this. It's beautiful. Some sentences of it keep humming in my head in repeat. Dhanaraj is right, some of them seem poetry in their own right. I adore the last lines.

Thank you Terri.