Philip Larkin

(9 August 1922 – 2 December 1985 / West Midlands / England)

Philip Larkin Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. A Study Of Reading Habits 4/2/2010
2. Ambulances 4/2/2010
3. An Arundel Tomb 4/2/2010
4. Annus Mirabilis 4/2/2010
5. Arrival 4/2/2010
6. At Grass 4/2/2010
7. Aubade 4/2/2010
8. Autobiography At An Air-Station 4/2/2010
9. Best Society 4/2/2010
10. Church Going 4/2/2010
11. Continuing To Live 4/2/2010
12. Cut Grass 4/2/2010
13. Days 4/2/2010
14. Deceptions 4/2/2010
15. Dockery And Son 4/2/2010
16. Dublinesque 4/2/2010
17. Essential Beauty 4/2/2010
18. Faith Healing 1/3/2003
19. Far Out 1/3/2003
20. First Sight 4/2/2010
21. For Sidney Bechet 1/3/2003
22. Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel 1/3/2003
23. Going 1/3/2003
24. He Hears That His Beloved Has Become Engaged 1/3/2003
25. High Windows 1/3/2003
26. Homage To A Government 1/3/2003
27. Home Is So Sad 1/3/2003
28. How Distant 1/3/2003
29. I Have Started To Say 1/3/2003
30. I Remember, I Remember 1/3/2003
31. If Hands Could Free You, Heart 1/3/2003
32. Ignorance 1/3/2003
33. Is It For Now Or For Always 1/3/2003
34. Letter To A Friend About Girls 4/2/2010
35. Library Ode 1/3/2003
36. Like The Train's Beat 1/3/2003
37. Lines On A Young Lady's Photograph Album 1/3/2003
38. Long Sight In Age 1/3/2003
39. Love Songs In Age 1/3/2003
40. Love, We Must Part Now 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Philip Larkin

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 ...

Read the full of Aubade

Library Ode

New eyes each year
Find old books here,
And new books,too,
Old eyes renew;
So youth and age
Like ink and page
In this house join,
Minting new coin.

[Hata Bildir]