| Author | Message | ||
     Des (Des) Username: Des Registered: 09-2010 Posted From: 86.165.39.12 |
I saw Sir Tom Courtenay live last night at the Mercury Theatre Colchester – in a one-man show depicting the character and poems of Philip Larkin. An amazing experience – like a ghost come to live in flesh, even though Sir Tom did not attempt to *look* like Larkin, but simply to *be* Larkin. Both amusing and poignant. Including this Ligottian poem by Larkin: Aubade I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what’s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid interrogation: yet the dread Of dying, and being dead, Flashes afresh to hold and horrify. The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse - The good not done, the love not given, time Torn off unused – nor wretchedly because An only life can take so long to climb Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; But at the total emptiness for ever, The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true. This is a special way of being afraid No trick dispels. Religion used to try, That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never die, And specious stuff that says No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing That this is what we fear – no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with, The anasthetic from which none come round. And so it stays just on the edge of vision, A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill That slows each impulse down to indecision. Most things may never happen: this one will, And realisation of it rages out In furnace-fear when we are caught without People or drink. Courage is no good: It means not scaring others. Being brave Lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood. Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape. It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can’t escape, Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go. Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house. Philip Larkin | ||
| Jonathan (Jonathan) Username: Jonathan Registered: 03-2008 Posted From: 91.143.178.131 |
We saw that a few years ago. It is excellent isn't it? | ||
| Tony (Tony) Username: Tony Registered: 03-2008 Posted From: 81.131.110.133 |
Ha - you could play that Kronos quartet music over that! The next 'Mama Mia.'  | ||
| Des (Des) Username: Des Registered: 09-2010 Posted From: 86.165.39.12 |
Tony, that whole poem was in some sense undermined, as Larkin was alive again - within Tom C. | ||
| Gary Fry (Gary_fry) Username: Gary_fry Registered: 03-2008 Posted From: 86.27.45.129 |
I love that poem. Maybe my favourite poem. | ||
| Joel (Joel) Username: Joel Registered: 03-2008 Posted From: 217.37.199.45 |
A remarkable poem, yes – pretty much Larkin's final word on the themes that obsessed him. Perhaps calling it 'Ligottian' is anachronistic, though, as Ligotti had only just started publishing stories when this poem appeared – it might be better to call his stories 'Larkinesque'. Though I would not discount the possibility of retrocausal influence – Shakespeare, for example, was unmistakeably influenced by Freud. | ||
| Joel (Joel) Username: Joel Registered: 03-2008 Posted From: 217.37.199.45 |
The opening line is memorable. But former colleagues of Lsrkin might argue that 'get half-drunk at night' was, for him, a process of sobering up. |