Covered; uncovered

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

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A gradual disappointment

Before I begin this poem I must tell you

I have just collected a letter

From the unable to deliver registered letter office

And now I am at the tyre repair shop

To see what they can do about the slow puncture

Which the nice man at the festival pointed out

Anyhow, back to the letter, I can tell

From the franking machine stamp that it is

From the masters course in the East of England

This I have already determined to be

One of those opportunities which I shall reject

I sent an email to that effect, yesterday

But it would be daft, wouldn't it

Not to take a look, to see once again

The times ahead that I am not now to share

Yet what purpose does that serve; what richness

Does it endow on my person or my personality

What regret is amplified, or stored for future use

I took the decision, not to go

Carefully, I weighed up the pro's and con's

Then, in the briefest single moment I chose no

The letter is still unopened

A part of me, perhaps the undiscovered artist

Would choose to see it simply gather dust

But I know myself better than that

And in this regard I think I know you

I will open the letter

But for now I have to have a new tyre

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Letting go

One more

And then I really must go

It's like my birthday

Like sledging in the snow

Yesterday

Or a while ago

I condemned that word

No more like to say

Like how daft is that

How absurd

So back it is

Just as again I say

Once more

It is a new beginning

Today there are no rules

The wicker basket

Is full of notes

Of indignation

I say was it you

That doth protest

Skip

Smile at the beautiful girl

Touch

The sails of forgiveness

Let all be well

For tomorrow

Believe me, please

It truly is a new beginning

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An odd almost unlikely condition

In the middle of the night

After delirium and without warning

It was not a clever thing, but still a task

Nevertheless, completed with clear insight

In the middle of the morning after

Dreams of laptops and megabyte computers

It was not a clever thing, but a choice

Nevertheless, made with logical laughter

In the aftermath of yesterday

When raindrops caught me on a faraway theme

It seems such a clever thing, the gift of love

Nevertheless, a treasure forever to play

In the behemoth of tomorrow

With sunlight across the meridian mean

It seems such a clever thing to sift

Nevertheless, the past of afterglow

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It's always easier not to bother

I am not Billy Collins, or Roger McGough

Or Simon Armitage

Or even me

Anyhow three's a crowd

And I would not like

To barge on in

Lad

Better for any words

Fatter or thinner

I read the phrase 'good poetry'

Twice today

On neither occasion

Did I care

For that particular

Turn of phrase

Lad

Better for any words

Fatter or thinner

You might not be Baudelaire

Or Neruda, Keats

Or even me

But don’t let that stop you

Introvert or inverted

Extrovert

Lad

Better for any words

Fatter or thinner

Say what you feel

Say bugger

If so you like

Let it out

Go on

Steam on in

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