Eight-line Poems

Philip Larkin

Philip Larkin

I admit I leaped upon this chance
to write of that previous oxymoron,
a Coventry poet of lugubrious mien,
the opposite of mere romance,
unlikely issue of industrial neurons,
this voice adrift in the guilded scene.

Most recent arrival in my trio of countrymen,
no fable he, almanacked yet ordinary.


Line count: 8
Rhymed abcabc xy
For Express It In Eight, 04.17.22
Prompt: Read At Grass by Philip Larkin, then choose 2 - 3 words from the poem to incorporate into a poem of your own.
Notes: I nearly fell over when I saw that the chosen poet for this prompt was the Coventry poet, Philip Larkin. As a Coventry kid myself, I have been aware of his presence (like a weight around my neck) for many years now (the trio mentioned is that of Shakespeare, Tolkien and Larkin). As a manufacturing city for centuries (a product of the guilds representing trades referred to obliquely in my poem - no, it wasn’t a typo), Coventry is an unlikely place to be the origin of poets and writers. Its libraries are filled with How To books. Larkin has been described as marked by “a very English, glum accuracy,” all of which endears him to me.