Larkin is a master of metaphor.
In Cut Grass, the poem below, the grass is a breathing creature sacrificed to the Gods of a new season.
Nature is a town criss-crossed by streets of flowers.
And the cloud is a tall mammal moving at a leisurely rhythm to take it all in.
From above.
Alberico Collina
Cut Grass by Philip Larkin
Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,
White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.
In Cut Grass, the poem below, the grass is a breathing creature sacrificed to the Gods of a new season.
Nature is a town criss-crossed by streets of flowers.
And the cloud is a tall mammal moving at a leisurely rhythm to take it all in.
From above.
Alberico Collina
Cut Grass by Philip Larkin
Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,
White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.
RSS Feed
