vendredi 20 janvier 2012

Cinematic Writing VII

Mantled in grey, the dusk steals slowly in,
Crossing the dead, dull fields with footsteps cold.
The rain drips drearily; night's fingers spin
A web of drifting mist o'er wood and wold,
As quiet as death. The sky is silent too,
Hard as granite and as fixed as fate.
The pale pond stands; ringed round with rushes few
But for the coming of the winter night
Of deep December; blowing o'er the graves
Of faded summers, swift the wind in flight
Ripples its silent face with lapping waves.
The rain falls still: bowing, the woods bemoan;
Dark night creeps in, and leaves the world alone.

- Philip Larkin, Winter Nocturne

2 commentaires:

hannah-rose a dit…

I love philip larkin and I love this poem. "night's finger spin a web of drifting mist", that's quite lovely, don't you think? I've always loved winter even though I agree that it can be quite a bare, barren season and it can bring despair so easily. It's like in the secret history, "Death is the mother of beauty". I think that's why I love winter so much...

this is the perfect image to illustrate this post, by the way.


ps. i've just read this amazing australian book i think you'd like. it's called Dirt Music by Tim Winton, it's not new or anything, but I have to read it for my course and I just fell in love.

pps. I think my favourite philip larkin poem is cut grass...

ppps. i'm in hong kong at the moment do you have any restaurant/cafe recommendations? In particular where you can get really good coffee? my email is if you have a second I'd love to hear your tips!

roamkix vintage a dit…

Check out 'First Sight' by Larkin, my fav by far xx