Sunday, November 06, 2005
Something almost being said
I love this poem. Especially that immaculate first para:
The trees are coming into leafIt's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting and reading Philip Larkin, who somehow seems to fit the laziness and the Sundayness, and even the afternoonness. There are some sublime moments in his poetry; who else could come up with a phrase like "The sun-comprehending glass." Delightful.
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.