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introducing readers to writers since 1995

April 20, 2004

"Going," Philip Larkin

by Ron Hogan

There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.

Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.

Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?

What loads my hands down?

From Collected Poems. This edition replaces the first Collected Poems; it deletes several poems which Larkin had chosen not to publish during his lifetime, and preserves the order in which he arranged those poems he did publish in their original collections.

Donald Hall wrote an appreciation of Larkin for New Criterion shortly after his death. "Aubade" is the best remembered of his final poems; this particular link also leads to a RealAudio recording of Larkin's reading of the poem which is truly memorable. For all the wrong reasons and some of the right reasons, his most famous poem is "This Be the Verse."

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