larkin' around

Am quite in love with Philip Larkin at the moment (but damn, is the man depressive or what)
-

The Importance of Elsewhere

Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home,
Strangeness made sense. The salt rebuff of speech
Insisting so on difference, made me welcome:
Once that was recognised, we were in touch.

Their draughty streets, end-on to hills, the faint
Archaic smell of dockland, like a stable,
The herring-hawker's cry, dwindling, went
To prove me separate, not unworkable.

Living in England has no such excuse:
These are my customs and establishments
It would be much more serious to refuse.
Here no elsewhere underwrites my existence.

----

Funny how when I first saw the title of this poem (as well as its last line) I instinctively assumed he was talking about having moved to Ireland of his own volition, seeking that forever-elusive joy and peace, and instead finding that there was none to be found there either. It's the same old theme of making hard choices about moving away, hoping against hope that this time, finally, one would be - could be - happy, and then finding that perhaps the problem has been inside you all along; there is no elsewhere, and one is doomed to be longing everywhere, and belonging nowhere.


And now, more Larkin, but something a little less morose :P
From 'The North Ship':

XXVIII

Is it for now or for always,
The world hangs on a stalk?
Is it a trick or a trysting-place,
The woods we have found to walk?

Is it a mirage or miracle,
Your lips that lift at mine:
And the suns like a juggler's juggling-balls,
Are they a sham or a sign?

Shine out, my sudden angel,
Break fear with breast and brow,
I take you now and for always,
For always is always now.
----

Thank poetry for keeping me sane. I don't know how people fend off the mindless, gnawing humdrum of everyday life without words, sounds and images that impart meaning and beauty and hope.