Untitled Poem by Philip Larkin

In this essay I am going to be analyzing an untitled poem, a sonnet by Philip Larkin published in 1945 in what was his first collection of poetry called The North Ship. Although the poem appears to be broken up into three parts – the better to represent birth, life and death – it is actually comprised of an octave and a sestet with alternate rhymes or alliterations: in the first stanza hall/prodigal and page/edge; place/palace and clouds/cast and in the second stanza face/ace and doom/room and final/finished. Larkin himself admits, in the introduction to the new edition printed in 1966, to be heavily influenced by W.B. Yeats when writing this collection, and I think that influence shows in the dream-like quality of this poem.

The first stanza, representing birth, is full of luminosity – “daytime”; “light” and “shines”; “sunbeams”. It is also highly ambiguous. What is “your place of birth” exactly?

“…this daytime palace,

This miracle of glass, whose every hall

The light as music fills,”

Does he literally mean a palace of glass, which only exists during the day because at night you cannot see it? Or does he mean the sea, using the glass as a metaphor for water? The mention of music suggests fluidity. However, the glass could also be a mirror and yet the extravaganza of sunbeams makes me think of a skylight or walls of glass. The fairy-tale like quality of a palace contrasts sharply with the down-to-earth “loaves and wine” of the second stanza. Birth and death; light and dark.

“…and on your face

Shines petal-soft;”

suggests a sleeping baby, a tiny (“petal”) newborn (“soft”), vulnerable in a palace of glass filled with so much sunlight it is easy

“To show you pausing at a picture’s edge

To puzzle out a name”

The image of an art museum comes to mind, another peaceful spot if ever there was one. Or does the subject pause in the poet’s mind’s eye? The subject is seeking out things that are always at the edge of discovery – “To puzzle out a name”, to rest a hand “a second on a random page” – just before the poet is cut short. The entire first stanza has a magical quality to it – the glass, the picture, the book. The reader can imagine the subject of the poem almost floating through the halls of light. And the poet seems to want to linger on this image but is interrupted by “clouds” that “cast moving shadows on the land.”

Because this sentence, representing life, stands alone, its words resonate all the more. Not only does it emphasize the declaration, it also gives us some warning of what is to come in the next stanza. The clouds obscure the light of the first stanza and the “shadows on the land” are like life’s experiences leaving their marks on the subject. The sentence casts shadows over the light-filled daytime palace; over the innocence of youth. It also marks the end of an idyll and symbolizes the passing of time and of growing older, thus obscuring the lightness and carefree state of being a child. This sentence conveys movement so well it is hard for me to believe that the words are standing still. I think Yeats’ influence can be clearly seen here, as a friend of Larkin (Vernon, from the introduction to The North Ship, Faber & Faber 1966) called Yeats’ poetry “music” and I find this line to be big and musical.

The poet creates a picture of tranquility and beauty – “the daytime palace” which he then shatters with the mention of night:

“Are you prepared for what the night will bring?”

This sentence immediately sets a completely different tone; a threatening one. The contrast to the first stanza, the darkness compared to the light, is striking. “Night” “doom” and “final” all have a dark edge to them, representing death. Another contrast between the two stanzas is the difference in structure. The first stanza meanders gently along while the second is comprised of two direct questions. This contrast in structure also emphasizes the feeling almost of incomprehension in the first stanza and knowledge in the second, like what takes place in the Garden of Eden after having eaten from the forbidden fruit.

Death’s presence is clear throughout the last stanza:

“Are you prepared for what the night will bring?

The stranger who will never show his face,”

Not only is this the classical depiction of Death, with his face hidden in his cowl, it is also a perfect metaphor for a difficult relationship; of a lack of commitment. This stranger asks “admittance” and if granted can represent both a loss of purity – if the next room were a bedroom – and death, if the next room symbolizes the next world. By setting him “loaves and wine” nightfall is implied and hospitality, or willingness, suggested. In fortune-telling, the ace of spades is the card of death, a fact that cannot be ignored even though the poet does not mention the suit of the card. It is enough that the rest of the stanza is so dark, I feel like the suit is almost as good as named.

It is possible to miss that it is the subject of the poem who is asked whether he or she will

“…overturn the table and go into the next room?”

Real violence is present in the word “overturn” which means to ruin or destroy, and again, the contrast to the virtuousness of the first stanza is masterful.

The two stanzas could almost be from two completely different poems, so far apart do they stand. And yet they complement each other in the same way that day and night do. Each part of the poem leads us to the next part. In the first stanza, the miracle of glass is a part of birth, but really it is also life itself because life is so fragile. The clouds in the sentence symbolizing life prepare us for the darkness that follows in the last stanza. And to complete the narrative, the last stanza ends with an unanswered question, in the same way that death does. Just like we need darkness to show us the beauty of light, Larkin shows us that it is the knowledge of death which makes life what it is.