Friday Poetry

[AlfredJPruffock]

What a miserable mean-spririted little man that Larkin guy must have been, if his poems are typical of that studiously banal effort. Apparently he spent his whole life working as a librarian in Hull, and it's not hard to believe.

He didnt spend his entire life in Hull - it just so happens I am reading his Biography - First Boredom - then Fear.

He spent many years in Belfast.

[Francko]

What a miserable mean-spririted little man that Larkin guy must have been, if his poems are typical of that studiously banal effort. Apparently he spent his whole life working as a librarian in Hull, and it's not hard to believe.

I have found a poem about Marina.

"Marina sitting by the pool of night
With arms of pearly sheen
Cameo face in the faint moonlight
Serene

Marina gazing from the breast of waves
Her dark hair trailing round
Swimming perhaps to the old sea caves
Undrowned.

Marina lying on the ocean floor
All webbed with silver gleams
Tritons schooling here to adore
In dreams

Marina singing from the distant reef
Salt tears upon her lips
Echoing the sobs of an ancient grief
For ships

Marina loving in the cold and dark
Maid of the restless sea
Sad paramour in the sailors’ hearts
Is she…is she.

Marina loving in the cold and the dark
Maid of the spirit of the restless sea
The sad paramour in the sailors’ hearts
Is she…is she. "

[oracleslave]

My mate met mr Prescott
And the minister for health
Both drinking down the labour club
And showing off their wealth
Steering clear of disorders
And taxing via stealth
Prescott swigged his pint of ale
Then brought it up himself

[EternalOptimist]

EO's prescott poem

My mate met mr Prescott
And the minister for health
Both drinking down the labour club
And showing off their wealth
Steering clear of disorders
And taxing via stealth
Prescott swigged his pint of ale
Then brought it up himself

[Marina]

What a miserable mean-spririted little man that Larkin guy must have been, if his poems are typical of that studiously banal effort. Apparently he spent his whole life working as a librarian in Hull, and it's not hard to believe.

[Wilmslow]

Here's another one, sponsored by Fathers for Justice...

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They feek 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 you.

But they were fcuked 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 throats.

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.

[batfink]

Prompted by another post, here's one from W Bro Rudyard Kipling....

Lengthy, but dull.

[Churchill]

Prompted by another post, here's one from W Bro Rudyard Kipling.

The Irish Guards (1918)
WE'RE not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so young at our trade,
For we had the honour at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards' Brigade.
'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!

Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's bound to be fighting,
And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more!

Ireland no more!

The fashion's all for khaki now,
But once through France we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,
The English-left at Ghent.
They're fighting on our side to-day
But, before they changed their clothes,
The half of Europe knew our fame,
As all of Ireland knows!

Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's memory undying,
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!

Ireland no more!

From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,
From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,
The ancient days come back no more
Than water under the bridge.
But the bridge it stands and the water runs
As red as yesterday,
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns
Like salmon to the sea.

Old Days! The wild geese are ranging,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!

Ireland no more!

We're not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so new in the ring,
For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe
When Louis was our King.
But Douglas Haig's our Marshal now
And we're King George's men,
And after one hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!

Ah, France! And did we stand by you,
Then life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?
Ah, France! And will we deny you
In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's loving and fighting,
And when we stop either, it's Ireland no more!

Ireland no more!