NEEDLING

Glenn lent me this book last night, Philip Larkin's Collected Poems.

We were watching a most boring movie by R. Redford. The only thing good in that movie is the young girl who plays one of the leading roles. She's the same actress who, a few years later, played in Lost in Translation. She's good. But Redford's getting old, nostalgic of things which never existed, and pounding cowboy cliché upon good country life in America cliché.

Here's a poem by Philip Larkin that Glenn read out loud before handing me the book:

     This Be The Verse

They fuck 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 fucked 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.

(by Philip Larkin, April 1971, from his book High Windows, published in 1974)

Glenn had loaned me this book once already when I did some house-sitting for him and Kari a couple years back. For some reason, I had just skimmed through the pages quickly, and hadn't really read any of the poems. I've certainly seen his name around for a long time, and I had plenty of opportunities to read his work. Where have I been? He's good. He's damn good.