{"id":132,"date":"2021-09-21T09:28:55","date_gmt":"2021-09-21T13:28:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/?page_id=132"},"modified":"2021-09-27T17:52:24","modified_gmt":"2021-09-27T21:52:24","slug":"aubade-philip-larkin","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/annotated-poems\/aubade-philip-larkin\/","title":{"rendered":"Aubade, Philip Larkin"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"c-feature-hd\">\n<div class=\"c-feature-hd\">\n<h1 class=\"c-hdgSans c-hdgSans_2 c-mix-hdgSans_inline\">Aubade<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n<div class=\"c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast\">\n<div><span class=\"c-txt c-txt_attribution\">BY\u00a0<a href=\"https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poets\/philip-larkin\">PHILIP LARKIN<\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div class=\"c-feature-bd\">\n<div class=\"o-poem isActive\" data-view=\"PoemView\">\n<div>I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.<\/div>\n<div>Waking at four to soundless\u00a0dark, I stare.<\/div>\n<div>In time the curtain-edges will\u00a0grow\u00a0light.<\/div>\n<div>Till then I see\u00a0what\u2019s really always there:<\/div>\n<div>Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,<\/div>\n<div>Making all thought impossible but how<\/div>\n<div>And where and when I shall myself die.<\/div>\n<div>Arid interrogation:\u00a0yet the dread<\/div>\n<div>Of dying, and being\u00a0dead,<\/div>\n<div>Flashes afresh to hold and\u00a0horrify.<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n<div>The mind blanks at the glare. Not in\u00a0remorse<\/div>\n<div>\u2014The good not done, the love not given, time<\/div>\n<div>Torn off unused\u2014nor wretchedly because<\/div>\n<div>An only life can take so long to climb<\/div>\n<div>Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;<\/div>\n<div>But at the total emptiness for ever,<\/div>\n<div>The sure extinction that we travel to<\/div>\n<div>And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,<\/div>\n<div>Not to be anywhere,<\/div>\n<div>And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n<div>This is a special way of being afraid<\/div>\n<div>No trick dispels. Religion used to try,<\/div>\n<div>That vast\u00a0moth-eaten musical brocade<\/div>\n<div>Created to pretend we never die,<\/div>\n<div>And specious stuff that says\u00a0<em>No rational being<\/em><\/div>\n<div><em>Can fear a thing it will not feel,<\/em>\u00a0not seeing<\/div>\n<div>That this is what we fear\u2014no sight, no sound,<\/div>\n<div>No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,<\/div>\n<div>Nothing to love or link with,<\/div>\n<div>The anaesthetic from which none come round.<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n<div>And so it stays just on the edge of vision,<\/div>\n<div>A small unfocused blur, a standing chill<\/div>\n<div>That slows each impulse down to indecision.<\/div>\n<div>Most things may never happen: this one will,<\/div>\n<div>And realisation of it rages out<\/div>\n<div>In furnace-fear when we are caught without<\/div>\n<div>People or drink. Courage is no good:<\/div>\n<div>It means not scaring others.\u00a0Being brave<\/div>\n<div>Lets no one off the grave.<\/div>\n<div>Death is no different whined at than withstood.<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n<div>Slowly\u00a0light\u00a0strengthens, and the room takes shape.<\/div>\n<div>It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,<\/div>\n<div>Have always known, know that we can\u2019t escape,<\/div>\n<div>Yet can\u2019t accept. One side will have to go.<\/div>\n<div>Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring<\/div>\n<div>In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring<\/div>\n<div>Intricate\u00a0rented world\u00a0begins to rouse.<\/div>\n<div>The sky is white as clay, with no sun.<\/div>\n<div>Work has to be done.<\/div>\n<div>Postmen like doctors\u00a0go from house to house.<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Aubade BY\u00a0PHILIP LARKIN I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless\u00a0dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will\u00a0grow\u00a0light. Till then I see\u00a0what\u2019s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid interrogation:\u00a0yet the &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/annotated-poems\/aubade-philip-larkin\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading <span class=\"screen-reader-text\">Aubade, Philip Larkin<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4794,"featured_media":0,"parent":13,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-132","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/132","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4794"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=132"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/132\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/13"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/digitalmethodsforthehumanities\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=132"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}