Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Cleaving Larkin

This Be The Verse
—Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


after all the—ruckus
and riggermarole—over
plath’s crummy—marriage
and desultory—bildungsroman
with big daddy—oh so mean
surrounded by—moon women
postmodern—feminist critics
and ogling voyeurs—like me
yawn—i find this poem
by philip larkin—so refreshing
so apropos—such a luxury
to put—sylvia path the goddess
smith college—mademoiselle
her hoity-toity—bildungsroman
her high-strung—marriage and
all that—nervous queen bee stuff

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