High Windows

Philip Larkin

Larkin, the celebrated librarian-poet, got somewhat cranky in his middle age. He also got more experimental, both qualities that make for fine poetry. Add to these scurrilousness, a wicked sense of humor, and an ear for rhythm matched only in the modern world's finest poets, and you have a recipe for greatness.

So why doesn't Larkin always pull it off? Good question. When he's on, he's very, very on, but when he's off, it's a mess. Unlike most poets, Larkin seems to have been able to switch back and forth between formal and free verse at will a number of times, but he did make the grade- school gaffe of trying to combine the two more than once. And a good deal of his “politically incorrect” (for lack of a better term) poetry smacks more of the juvenile than the Shakespearean:

“Jan von Hogspeuw staggers to the door
And pisses at the dark. Outside, the rain
Courses in cart-ruts down the deep mud land.
Inside, Dirk Dogstoerd pours himself some more…”
(“The Card-Players”)

Despite these excursions into the ridiculous, however, Larkin does still exhibit his mastery more often than not in this slim volume, and it's worth picking up either for the established Larkin fan or the newcomer who wonders what happened to metrical poetry after World War II.