This installment is about This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin (1922-1985).

I don’t remember when I came across this, possibly while I was at school. I do remember it being the first poem I’d come across with swearing in it!

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
    They may not mean to, but they do. 

It definitely appealed to the cynical part of me.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

At the time, it seemed to perfectly express something I was feeling, which I suppose is one reason that art, of any kind, speaks to you.

© bardofupton 2018

[Series note (which I should probably have said in the previous post): I am in no way looking at these poems through a critical lens or even with much background knowledge about some of them. This is purely a look at why I like them and not any kind of real analysis.]

This one is about A Poison Tree by William Blake (1757-1827). I could probably write this whole series about Blake; he’s one of my favourite poets. But I’m restricting myself to one poem per poet, at least for the moment.

I definitely came across Blake as a teenager – the first of his poems I read was most likely The Tyger, and that encouraged me to read more of his work. But A Poison Tree is probably my favourite.

I like the repeating structure of the first verse:

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And the imagery of the second:

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

I like the way it moves from abstract to concrete, the way it seems like a metaphorical tree in the first couple of verses, and then becomes a clearly real entity in the next two.

I just like Blake in general, and this poem in particular.

© bardofupton 2018

I kind of already started this series with my post about Not Waving but Drowning, so I am going to make it a recurring series where I discuss poems I like and why. It will be intermittent, however; I’m not committing to a regular schedule.

This installment is To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell (1621-1678). This poem was written in the 1600s, and I first came across it during my English A-level way back when.

I like this poem basically because it amuses me. The very first lines grabbed me:

Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.

It carries on in a similar vein, giving essentially a list of reasons why the “mistress” of the title should get it on with the person speaking in the poem. My favourite of these reasons is this:

The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

There’s no deep reason why I like it; it’s just fun for me to read.

© bardofupton 2018