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- เผยแพร่เมื่อ 8 ม.ค. 2009
- 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
All photos taken by me: www.flickr.com/hoolebronx
(c) hoolebronx 2009 - บันเทิง
He was quite the little ray of sunshine, wasn’t he?
By some margin, my favourite poet.
He's just being honest
The genius of this poem is how Larkin switches the usual trope of dawn as a new, fresh beginning to it being the harbinger of death. The analagy of postmen as doctors is purest Larkin
Does the doctor/postman simile mean anything though or does it just sound good
@@whywhywhy9659 I think Larkin is linking the mundane door-to-door visits of postmen with the inevitability of an eventual visit by the doctor (they made house visits in those days for serious cases) - the implication being that sooner or later everyone enters their final illness and the doctor calls, as the postman does, and as death does. just another of gloomy Larkin's musings on the inevitability of death.
@@pauldonald827 I was being very lazy so I appreciate the explanation, the routine of the post does have an unnerving quality: postmen now replaced by Amazon and it's hyper-death feeling efficiency.
I actually have a slightly different interpretation, that the post and phone calls that bring us our obligations and activities during the day, keeping us busy, are the only reprieve we have from existential dread.
Read this years ago but it never loses its impact. Terrifying is the word. I need a drink.
This is the best poem written ever. Philip Larkin summarises everything I have ever thought about dying-so good!
This poem has haunted me from the moment I first read it. Larkin describes the fear perfectly, with terrifying realism.
It's the honesty of this poem, plus the extraordinary skill with words that makes it so beautiful, if sobering. We've all been there at some point. The light brings distractions. I think of Edward Thomas's poem Out in the Dark": How weak and little is the light, All the universe of sight, Love and delight, Before the might, if you love it not, of night."
Nevertheless, as I grow into my 70s, I fear death less. We suffer in all sorts of ways in this world, if only fearing to lose the things we love while we are still alive. Perhaps Death, which is neither light nor dark, brings Peace at last.
Music to my ears. Total pleasure, beauty and meaning.
Masterly. So relevant for today’s deathstruck times. Larkin has some superb phrases and clever lines here, as always. I love Larkin’s deceptively simple and uncompromising style; the honest antithesis to poetical perfumed pretence. A favourite poet of a former boss who lived his life along Larkinian lines. Maybe it’s aboutbseeing poetry in the everyday and makingbit universal. So much of Shakespeare’s ‘Aye, but to die, and go we know not where’ and ‘Sans eyes, sans sense, sans everything’ here in a modern voice and form. Larking saw into the heart of things; he wrote in a style which was clear and relevant, distinctive and rich. Not an easy feat! God bless, God rest this not so merry but eminently wise gentleman.
Who wrote ‘the million petalled flower of being here’…?
This hits so close to home it's hard to hear. It has a darker impact when read aloud.
The most mundane line of the poem [ 'work has to be done' ] is also its strongest; we can meditate frightfully on death and its terrifying finality, which puts a sudden stop to our dreams and plans, but we have to wake up with the oncoming day and do the daily chores; life must go on for the living and that is what matters; yes, work has to be done.
No one nails dark realism as beautifully as Larkin. Legend.
my favourite Larkin poem. Thank you very much for posting this. Xx
The peace that passes all understanding has passed him by, but yet still may find him.
One prays it will!
Beautifully written, beautifully read.
Brilliant, thanks for posting.
And with the words, too.
Beautiful, wonderful words.
I’m freaked out. I watched “Sense of an ending”. Then an hour later I was watching episode 7 of “Devs”. This same poem used in both.
I read this a few years ago in a class, and when I saw it in devs it seemed really familiar, but I couldn't place it. I think it might be my favorite poem now
@@yazef8940 definitely mine too. After I heard it on Devs I immediately googled it because it was really shocking to hear. Amazing poem though. Definitely my favorite poem of all time.
I read that book recently, do not remember the poem being used in the book? Maybe it's only in the film, would you reccomend it?
I like the way this poem relentlessly faces the music. And "Being brave/Lets no one off the grave" might even manage a bit of appropriate deadpan humour.
I love this poem more than any other, but I just now stumbled upon Larkin himself reading it for the first time. What surprised me most was how much humour his reading seems to lend the text. Maybe it was always there and it took the author to make me see it.
I DEDICATE THIS POEM TO HUMANS
wow, devs made me check this. Hope I'll manage to remember it
Thank you.
I am a Christian but I love this poem as I do with a lot of Larkin's work. There's just something so engaging and intriguing about its content that brings out such an emotional and dismal response in your mind. It doesn't affect my beliefs in religion, but I think it beautifully encapsulates the very human fear of death that we all encounter throughout our lives.
For you, there s no death. Poetry is not for believers, other than religious poems. Be coherent. Not a clown to your own intelectual integrity.
What is puzzling and in the end unsatisfying about Larkin's work is that it is mostly lacking in humour, and there seems to be a total absence of an enquiring mind.
There's no sense of the enjoyment of exploration and finding out something new, and he's never happy unless he's sad.
@@splinterbyrd go to a circus, or listen to miley cirus, bad bunny, if u r looking 4 humour. Ridiculous comment. Wtf
@@splinterbyrd without death, there s no room for poetry, tonto
@@splinterbyrd u generalize based on your interpretation. That s a logical mistake. Read cartoons, 4 children preferably
Thank you for haring this.
Thanks for posting. Good stuff
I love much of Larkin's work -- his excellent poetry ("Aubade" is probably his best), fine critical prose, and his excellent work about jazz --
I am always delighted by this poem - taking the most grave and common of subjects, examining it with language polished and assembled with the precision of a watchmaker - yet shot through with just the right amount of his irrepressible 'naughtiness'. The observation about courage (...not scaring others) is both profound and quite hilarious. I have it pinned over my desk.
I'd say courage makes considerable difference. Hysteria is unmanly.
The Sense of an Ending movie brought me here. Victoria's Mother attempted recital at the dinner table. I had to see if it was real and I am not disappointed. Beautiful poem.
Crushing beauty.
Amazing
Heart wrenching, tangibly beautidul.
Perfect!!!!
I'm always amazed by Larkin's technical brilliance. Whether end-stopped or enjambed his lines always have a perfect balance. Even the identical rhyme at the end of S2 is impeccable. And then the capacious stanzas that are tied to the theme of the poem itself, slowly dwindling down to a few metrical feet.
He's a genius born not made
Food for thought, thanks for posting your thoughts. As for the 'identical' rhyme at the end of S2, I see the rhyme not as 'with' with 'with', but of 'think with' and 'link with' although I'm happy to concede that you're technically correct.
Hey, many thanks.
Love it.
This is briliant
Tony Heptinstall I like hearing the poet read his work how he intended it to be
Dark yet smooth the realism of every day mundane life. Philip is the best poet from the last century.
Well now, that has perked me right up! Fight the good fight and all that.
A brutal honesty that burns away religion and beliefs with words like a flamethrower.
Fabulous..
This poem moves me by its solitary recognition of what it is to be an outsider in faith and yet recognising the yearning to be touched by something immortal.
"An outsider in faith" doesn't make clear sense. We confront death, whatever we believe.
Well that was cheerful
Two people think they'll never die.
I love how dry and frank and self deprecating Larkin is. This is one of my favourites. It somehow makes feel uplifted - the same way I do when I hear the most miserable songs by the Smiths
kuriosoranj Me too. Strange, I had this same thought recently.
I don't get it when people say it's depressing! It's uplifting and funny to me!
My thoughts exactly! You obviously have a good life, but can see (but not be dragged down by) the fragility of life!
Well said.
My top poem to listen to in these pandemic times.
Cheer up mate. Maybe for Christmas ull get a curved 4k telle
lov2aclr8 If there was an award for TH-cam comments, this one would win for sure.
lov2aclr8 lol
@@vivthefree
Why?
@@jonharrison9222 I guess I thought it was funny at the time?
Not if 'e ain't got the proper loicense tho, bit sad really.
Possibly the greatest poem of the 20th century.
Sounds fresh 4 decades later
Pure genius
I got my answer elsewhere - it was one of a number of recordings done by Larkin in later life which came to light only comparatively recently...
yeah. i always heard it in my mind being read a bit more laconic. without as many inflections to it. the way he reads it, though i like his voice, renders it almost ineffective.
same thing happened when i read the sunset limited by mccarthy then watched tommy lee jones' adaptation on hbo.
genius!
Hoolebronx, could you tell me where this reading comes from? I'm desperately looking for this recording in wav format. Thanks!
Telephones crouch, getting ready to ring... There's a man who likes being left alone.
I can only imagine how interesting the people who don’t comment on these videos must be.
My fav poem
@badoombum I get what you mean, kinda. I think it is good the way he reads it. He lets the poem, and the words do the work. He doesn't dramatise any of it. I think he realises that it is a primarily a page poem. That said, I'm with you on poems being recited generally.
@badoombum I thought that was a fantastic reading. Perfect tone, for that particular poem! I agree with you on the vast majority of recitals though.
The one flaw is that clanker ‘nothing to love or link with’ line.
And soon…strikes me cold😭
January 2021 .and the poem seems more real in this pandemic ...or maybe death has crossed our minds more now ...
@MrTycho7 You have a point but the best of those whom you mentioned either write secular work (Shakespeare- I don't think God would have cared much for Titus) or relentlessly existential/skeptical of religion (Dostoevsky). The latter often DID allege many shams and paradoxes of religion.
The realist shit. Period.
Most things may never happen, this one will.
It reminds me of Prufrock...
Oh Devs....ty
This is exactly what I feel/fear about death...
Every person does. This is why many think religion was created. A concoction evolved by the fear of the human higher mind. The ability of man to know his impending doom. No other creature can have this insight like we do and because of this, we created God to take our mind away from this constant abyss that smiles at us stronger every year we inch closer to the grave.
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.
[...]
Nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with.
[...]
Most things may never happen: this one will.
----
The most terrifying poem ever written? I get these thoughts in bed at 4am. But I realised it's a chemical imbalance. A preoccupation with the horror of death is not 'normal' despite the reality of death. When you're happy and not depressed you don't get these horrors, it's a brain state.
‘Postmen, like doctors, go from house to house’
Sigmund Freud said that an obsession with death (death OCD) was caused by unresolved childhood conflict.
His swansong 👌
blah, sorry for double post. There's no editing on youtube.
Philip you never truly died. With technology your voice can be heard anywhere at any time, like if you were speaking now . I think when you are truly gone is when nobody remembers you or have heard your name. That is finite.
@astrophonix sorry... I think I may have "voted down" this by mistake... Great comment on what is one of my favourite works by quite possibly my favourite poet. It's not Nihilistic in the slightest... By its very awareness of death it fully embraces life and all its possibilities... It is another day closer to death.... however, it is also the beginning of another possibility laden day.
When was this recorded? I know Larkin recorded all his main collections (excluding The North Ship, 1945, reissued 1966), but was unaware he had recorded "Aubade", which was never collected in the poet's lifetime.
Julian Meek Larkin's Last Masterpiece 1974.
Larkin uses his technical ability in rendering a sombre atmosphere, the simple line "the sky is white as clay" is enough to set the mood
The thing is in England the sky is often like that - in winter sometimes you don’t see the sun for 2 weeks or more
I'd love to hear Bill Nighy reading this ...
Its poetry like his that lessens the fear. Or at least distracts. Less moth-eaten and purple than religion, I suppose.
Nothing finer.
Except Shakespeare, Blake, Yeats, Emily Dickinson, Hopkins, Wordsworth, Wilfred Owen, Thomas Hardy, John Keats, Dante, Rilke, Milton, etc.
nothing more terrible; nothing more true
Which religion: a current one, a defunct-one, an ancient one, a newly made-up one?
This is a great poem-elegant, flawlessly formed, and within its understanding perfect. I disagree with it. "No rational being can fear the thing it will not feel" is not "specious stuff." Why so? "Most things will never happen; this one will." is right and has the essential understanding one craves that Larkin alone seems to provide. However, might it not be good to be rid of it all, to be nothing? If only we do die...
"the essential understanding one craves that Larkin alone seems to provide" means what exactly? I can think of countless poets who would dwarf him.
He tells us plainly why it is specious. The terror is to lose everything we are; our thoughts, senses and emotions.
@@chomskysarmy3965 No. He tells us why he thinks it is specious. However, it is not. It is logical. I still love the poem, in spite of this flaw, though.
@@franzgeistworm Well, you are obviously coming at it from a place of religious superstition which the poem shows is one aspect of the way people try to deny the fact of their own inevitable annihilation.
@@chomskysarmy3965 Not at all. I'm an atheist. I believe we die and become nothing-roughly the view of Beckett's "Fin de partie," or "Endgame." However, I don't believe dying and not feeling or linking is as bad as the poem implies,. Moreover, the philosophical argument that the speaker (Larkin himself maybe) tries to refute by fiat is legitimate and not "specious."
The Whitson wedding
There is no new insight in the poem fine poem that it is in terms of word usage and summary. Phil in giving vent to his death fear if not death phobia; a fear that in many ways crippled his existence is merely voicing the main concern that man has faced since he first appeared. Hence, Christ of course said, "I come to set you free". Unfortunately, Phil exhibited something of a Nicodemus-type compunction and couldn't make the commitment, he is not alone in that. Hence, many of us turn to alcohol, drugs in all their varieties and so much else besides to drown out the message and mask the inevitable.
+Allan Lindsay Your choice of the adverb 'merely' would, I'm sure, strike Larkin as droll, as it does me. WH Auden once noted 'Poetry is the clear expression of mixed feelings'. The form Larkin's expression of fear takes is original and quite affecting, but I look forward to reading the 'new insight(s)' you may know others to have.
+Trevor Bailey, Hi Trevor, thank you for the very insightful and 'weighted' reply. I'm very glad you picked up on the "merely" aspect which is indeed a word of some significance.
I need to think some more, most especially as you bring Auden to the table as it were. Someone whom I hold literally speaking in very high regard and whose work I love. Poetry being the purest form of expression must
now equate to "poetry being the purest form of expression of mixed feelings" maybe that's even closer to the truth? Perhaps. Is our Phil exhibiting mixed feeling in Aubade? Or conversely is he "merely" exhibiting fixation?
As I say let's think some more and see where we might go with this or indeed where this may well lead us. .
+Allan Lindsay Your rejoinder raises an interesting point with respect to the object of poetry writing, Allan. The 'mixed feelings' evident in Aubade, I would argue, go to Larkin's existential struggle with 'unresting death' on the one hand, and the need we all experience to fill our lives with vain distractions. So what's new?
Auden, you will recall, said 'Poetry makes nothing happen' ('In Memory of WB Yeats') and, in so far as the use of poetry as a didactic tool goes, 'Aubade' may fail the test. After all, as you seem to say, we are easily persuaded of Larkin's deep fear of death, but such subjective feeling says little to us other than provide an all-too-common excuse for alcoholism.
On the other hand, if we set aside instrumentalism in favour of looking upon Aubade as a work of art, then Larkin's own definition of poetry comes to the fore: 1) recognise a strong emotion within oneself; 2) commit that feeling to writing; and 3) hope to reproduce that emotion in the reader - the real test of poetry's worth.
Accordingly, Larkin's 'fixation' on death (which you rightly diagnose) was put to the service of great art which, in turn, helps people like me think & breathe away another day of 'slow dying' ...in celebration of the here & now!
+Trevor Bailey.
Hi Trevor, thank you once more for an excellent appraisal and might I add - excellent use of our language in doing so. I perceive that thou too, are a poet sir!
The immediate impetus is for me to home in on the fourth "paragraph" you offer . . . first. I think works such as these, because they are seemingly on the side of the, "life is meaningless campaign or ideology" and thus seemingly come uncluttered with religious connotations and what people perceive such to be, not that they truly can hence Larkin mentions religion; albeit somewhat dismissively. Anyway these works, perhaps do a great service, in that while many people because of the aforementioned connotations associated to and often gleefully pinned on religion, now heavily burdened as it is, by detrimental misuse, may resist being brought to the banquet table of "what is life and death" [the most important of all issues?] by "gloomy" religion, most particularly Christianity, wherein one of the fundaments is to maintain concentration if not meditation on the ready acceptance of death, since it leads to the resurrection. Works then such as these bring a focus to bear on the matter to those resistive of religion? I'm not claiming this was/is Phil's intent, but it is a by-product of his
"hope to reproduce that emotion in the reader." Writing poetry myself I totally concur with that point [3] you make in relation to what Larkin said, but would be tempted to add amendments. [God working both sides of the fence here?]
So to the "here and now", the crux, what we require perhaps is a great and precise work on that subject, for does the "here and now" not appear illusory of and in itself? That being the case I think this was crucial to the battle Phil fought each day. Death, the grim reaper never sleeps, always stalks, and in the meantime the "here and now" is what exactly? It is certainly one definition of ephemerality; the Arabs have a saying along the lines of "time is like sand the harder to you try to hold onto it the faster it slips through your fingers".
Larkin too honest perhaps, certainly in his work to exist in a compromised half-way house of a vague wishy-washy "there is a heaven", which most of us do, encapsulated in a protective "I don't really know, but I just want to get by" philosophy. Ergo, "when I think of it which is not often - sometimes it seems like there is definitely something else beyond at other times it doesn't" a mood dependency condition thus prevails. Anyway, Larkin found an anesthetic was necessary and reached for the bottle. I have to say life compromised by a death phobia is not life at all [must we define life?] and might drive me to find a constant anesthetic and of course other than death itself, there isn't one! But we may have a hold of a tail in the dark that leads to body that seen in the light raises the question is this why so many of us need to escape the "here and now" as alcoholism and drug usage proliferates? One other point in closing, Larkin highly intelligent as he was had to appreciate that his lifestyle hastened the very thing he dreaded! A "let's get it over with" [subconscious] condition? Therein lies a veritable plateau to be explored on the way to higher or indeed lower ground.
I would like to respond to your other points later otherwise we'll have a thesis on our hands here and now! Thanks Trevor.
Indeed. Some try and mask the fact of death by taking refuge in religion, which is far worse.
I feel like he took the first line from the Chinese poet li po the moon
@MrTycho7 There's no nihilism benath this poem, it is a memento mori, a reminder of the temporary nature of life to inspire us to cherish it more. But then, you're still in the thrall of religion, 'the vast, moth-eaten musical brocade created to pretend we never die' so you are afraid to even try to see past your comforting delusion.
Cheer up, ffs, Phil
Devs
This appears to be the soul confronting its mortality in a Godless universe, but I suspect it has to do more with the effects of drinking too much cheap blended whiskey, something Larkin was prone to do, as his acquaintances relate, in superhuman quantities. He confesses as much in the poem. But moderation is the enemy of existential angst, a lesson some people never learn.
You mean he should've drank more than he did? I.e. not "moderately"? Because getting "half drunk" isn't getting drunk. The fact that we die has nothing to do with the consumption of alcohol. The poem has nothing to do with soul, as you term it; the use of such a word and concept would have had no place in his vocabulary.
And I suspect you have nothing to offer but a cheap shot at something that dwarfs you.
We’d never have his poetry without it, most likely.
Where did you find this recording? I can't find out where it came from. I didn't even think Larkin ever recorded a reading "Aubade."
It's the title that makes this the blackest of black comedy.
Sick and betrayed I tells ya!
I call this literary style miserabilism. Not just nihilism, but miserable, complaining, defeatist surrender. I used to see him as he strolled about the campus of Hull Uni, with his hearing aids turned down and his eyes on the ground as if he were reduced to scavenging for dropped coins. Oh bad indeed!
@MrTycho7 But truly sensitive poets, writers artists and scientists are not taken in by fairy stories of God and angels. The brightest souls among us see right through religious faith for the sham that it is. Thank God ha ha for Philip Larkin.
This poem is better by TS Eliot, it's entitled "The Love Song of...". Larkin is much better as Larkin, for example, "High Windows", or "This Be The Verse"...in my opinion.
I just cannot see that. I’ll read it again and again, see if I think differently. Larkin’s is so stark, evocative.
None more black!
I thought this poem was about suicide?
revol148 philip larkin was very of his time, bounded by world wars, the cold war, changing society.. He wrote out of his fear of death, death was his muse but he wouldn't have ever killed himself, he was too terrified of it. Sadly, when he stopped writing, he died. He needed the presence of death to write but he would never have sought it out. . Sorry I really identify with him haha maybe I'm wrong but I think it's more a fascination and terror rather than desire although fear and desire do go hand in hand..
Marnie O'Brien although he did kill himself in a way. it was like he was scared of life in a way.. He worked hard, he drank hard, he smoked hard and it did die relatively young.
+Marnie O'Brien
In his sixties?
No, it isn't about suicide, it's about dying and being dead. There's no hint of suicide in it.
Ho Ly Shit
Ha, what's that genius under my thing writing? Arse. Nothing worse than bad poetry.
Should a poem really sound like a patient emoting on the psychiatrist's couch? Why are poets so bad at reading their own poetry? Is it because they want us to read it for ourselves? Try to imagine Anthony Hopkins reading this. A poem should evidence itself as a poem.
if you guys want real poetry, listen to Daquan's mixtape
I love and hate this poem.
Atheism sucks.
+SuperHoldenC I respectfully disagree.
The universe is godless. Tough luck if you can't deal with it.
I disrespectfully disagree,Atheism doesn't suck
I don't think you guys understand. He is dealing with it. When I first became an atheist, hell not being real was a real big lifting of fear off the shoulders. But after about a decade of not worrying and finding yourself closer death than ever... the fear comes back in the form of nothing. The nothing, can't take your fear with you, because there will be no more you. Sure you had no problem before you were born but you didn't know life. Now life is all we know. It's hard to part with.