Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet
Philip Larkin: Whitsun Weddings
I am a Yorkshireman, that is, I was
Born in the West Riding, and then spent
My formative years on God's side of the Pennines
For over 35 years the valleys and the villages
They were my home; to drink real ale, play football
Although my granddad, he would have said to laike
One among many; it felt that I was chosen, special
A hop-stepped heritage to a clay works manager
But labourer, with barrow, was my direct blood line
It was easy to let praise be heaped upon me
No difficulty to be the centrepiece
The team captain, the leader of the socialist free
During years of working on my knees, I matriculated
After that business, of skipping out of all my GCE's
Now I live a slower life, on flat-lands of Lincolnshire
Where the Wolds are my Pennines
And the populous marshes are my unpopulated
Desolate, and beautifully dark peat moors
Again I study, but this time with convention
At the University of NTU, and with you most nights
In bright white lights of darkness, of life
Between here, there, then and now, this and that
I did a few things; came by chance to be a manager
Though it wasn't to be, not really me, you see
Perhaps I should tell you, that in the last weeks
I have seen two cinema films: Dr Zhivago and er…
No, I forget the name of the other
And I notice, that on more than one occasion
I have left off the letter which completes
A word or phrase, leaving it without meaning
Useless as an address on a letter
Eliding to become a lost letter, intent sent instead
To the dead letter office
Yesterday my poetry tried to have attitude
I think it was maybe inspired, by that
Tear jerker of a Prime Minister’s speech
But the anger will not well up so so easily
The causes for which I care are already taken
By other leaders; with their more extraordinary flare
So I sit and stare, I sit and stare and think
The drink of tea with cake is my companion
I have no trouble moving slowly, instinctive you see
Gentle be the time, to read of cull and carrion
Lone Ranger, Tonto and the white stallion
I forget his name, hi ho
The rain has started to fall, it drips off the ivy
The breeze is up; soon trees will be free of leaves
Yes, Lincolnshire; where my sky will meet my sea
