A poem for National Poetry Day. What to choose? Roethke's 'The Waking', Lowell's 'For the Union Dead'? Something of Plath, her 'black,cut-paper people' and ' the silence of astounded souls'? Or Hughes, to counter her? So much choice, so many thoughts, but I have settled on Larkin.
Days
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
From Philip Larkin, Collected Poems (Faber & Faber, 2003)
9 October 2008
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