Thanks for sharing

In the picture of the library staff Maeve and the other (junior?) woman are all standing and the male staff who I'm assuming are more senior (because it includes Larkin) are all seated!

I was living in the Gower peninsula in Wales , riding my bike in the dusk - and in the graininess of the dusk I saw two horses. Horses stand absolutely stony motionless when they sleep , which they do, standing up.. The moment I saw them I knew what he meant by anthracite statues. Absolutely spot on.

Even Larkin looks humourless.

Have still got single glazing and wood chip wallpaper

I recently found a stack of 8 poems typed by Dylan Thomas for a recording of “Dylan Thomas Reading Dylan Thomas” volume II. This was the first poem of volume II side 1. He could really write passionately and his passion, being real, is reflected in his voice. I love Death Shall Have no Dominion!

It's an odd sort of racist who had a deep love of jazz and the black musicians who wrote and performed it. I wish the program had addressed this striking paradox.

"The Mower"- anyone who isn't familiar with his work should start there. Also: "Poetry of Departures", "The Old Fools", "Whitsun Weddings". Les Murray- a devout Catholic - put his atheism and general negativity down to depression, and indeed wrote his own rejoinder to what might be called his own credo, "Aubade". Of course, given his family, how else was he going to turn out? But whatever about that, read the poems: the importance of love was at the core of much of his best work❤

My most favourite poem as I sit aged 68 ....sadly I never found my Fern Hill ...but listening to Dylan Thomas recite...I go to his .

Why did Thomas skip the key section, the penultimate stanza?

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Norman, is my grandfather who married Gill hence his book Jill

➖➖ ➖➖🔹🔹

Close to a reality breakthrough but failed at the last few hurdles.

He didn't get the gift of appreciation. Sad when one can't be grateful for life and its ups and downs. Learning to breath. Seeing others truly suffer. I really love people like this though. Somehow surviving my childhood, I get him, a brother.

GOES HARD

Don't know what say..

43:50 lmao

A wonderful programme. it is easy to see why Larkin got along so well with Kingsley Amis. Both were real people who did not accept the pretentious veneer of the cultural commentators.

Incredible.

I love poetry , only just discovered this 😢

'When I feel awfully trapped a weekend in Birkenhead usually cheers me up.'

Please check out the following video for more content about Philip Larkin: kzbin.info/www/bejne/rZKwgoydbchroq8

I am classically trained in music, I perceive a great musicality to this poem. I would compose music for it, an ode to the child inside all human beings, an inner child he so wonderfully acknowledged.

Art and craft is all about observation in seeing them experiencing the dark.

"Dark rainbow bliss." I love it.

He sounds like an a-hole . A nice , depressed a-hole .

I wouldn't call the channel islands 'dismal' 🤡

'ull

! what is this about. I only get phrases. I like thoses phrases ...especially, Especially When the October Wind....

What an amazing documentary!! Thanks to whoever uploaded this. Larkin is my favourite British poet

Beautiful poems. Tragic life. His "freedom" became his prison.

No fool !

I sidle lowly slowly away with my teeth but most probably not..... ✝️

Top poet , but crap delivery

Easily the best post-war English poet. You don't have to agree with his politics to admit that.

This is the saddest poem I know of. (Admittedly, I don't even understand most poetry.) Richard Dawkins was right when he said it is "achingly evocative of lost youth."

My dissertation was about the paradox running through Larkin's poems. I wish I could have met him. I think his poetry is profound and is actually as life affirming as it is about death. As I said, it is paradoxical. His work is beautiful.

I think I enjoyed his poetry more before I found out how much of a pessimist he was. I wonder how much better his work might have been had he a more transcendent aspect to his personality.

You just have to be an old Etonian to be a poet. Fact

"I've done a lot more for Dylan Thomas than he ever did for me." Bob Dylan

😁

This is his masterpiece.

You know, I'm so glad we have these recordings. Dylan's voice was like a poem itself. But strictly as far as understanding and appreciating the actual poetry of the poem it's so much better to read. As intended.

I Myselves The grievers Grieve Among the street burned to tireless death A child of a few hours With its kneading mouth Charred on the black breast of the grave The mother dug, and its arms full of fires. Begin With singing Sing Darkness kindled back into beginning When the caught tongue nodded blind, A star was broken Into the centuries of the child Myselves grieve now, and miracles cannot atone. Forgive Us forgive Us your death that myselves the believers May hold it in a great flood Till the blood shall spurt, And the dust shall sing like a bird As the grains blow, as your death grows, through our heart. Crying Your dying Cry, Child beyond cockcrow, by the fire-dwarfed Street we chant the flying sea In the body bereft. Love is the last light spoken. Oh Seed of sons in the loin of the black husk left. II I know not whether Adam or Eve, the adorned holy bullock Or the white ewe lamb Or the chosen virgin Laid in her snow On the altar of London, Was the first to die In the cinder of the little skull, O bride and bride groom O Adam and Eve together Lying in the lull Under the sad breast of the head stone White as the skeleton Of the garden of Eden. I know the legend Of Adam and Eve is never for a second Silent in my service Over the dead infants Over the one Child who was priest and servants, Word, singers, and tongue In the cinder of the little skull, Who was the serpent's Night fall and the fruit like a sun, Man and woman undone, Beginning crumbled back to darkness Bare as nurseries Of the garden of wilderness. III Into the organpipes and steeples Of the luminous cathedrals, Into the weathercocks' molten mouths Rippling in twelve-winded circles, Into the dead clock burning the hour Over the urn of sabbaths Over the whirling ditch of daybreak Over the sun's hovel and the slum of fire And the golden pavements laid in requiems, Into the bread in a wheatfield of flames, Into the wine burning like brandy, The masses of the sea The masses of the sea under The masses of the infant-bearing sea Erupt, fountain, and enter to utter for ever Glory glory glory The sundering ultimate kingdom of genesis' thunder.

There is nobody quite like Thomas. Wonderful

beautiful

Wow

Vou beber.

Worth checking out this documentary that discusses his reputation and also includes a tour of his birthplace kzbin.info/www/bejne/lYCxXo2flpKdo5Y