Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin
In this poem the speaker tells the story of “the traveller” who is unable to resist the call of the sea and the desire to travel. It is also a story of choices and how humans live with uncertainty. Larkin leaves the reader suspended in an uncomfortable world of indecision and unhappiness.
Structur...
This town has docks where channel boats come sidling;
Tame water lanes, tall sheds, the traveller sees
(His bag of samples knocking at his knees),
And hears, still under slackened engines gliding,
His advent blurted to the morning shore.
And we, barely recalled from sleep there, sense
Arrivals lowing in a doleful distance –
Horny dilemmas at the gate once more.
Come and choose wrong, they cry, come and choose wrong;
And so we rise. At night again they sound,
Calling the traveller now, the outward bound:
O not for long, they cry, I not for long –
And we are nudged from comfort, never knowing
How safely we may disregard their blowing,
Or if, this night, happiness too is going.