So, Now What?
We read Philip Larkin’s famous 1954 poem Church Going last night. I was five years old when the poem was written. The poem was troubling to everyone in our circle. No doubt that was Larkin’s purpose. I am seventy six now and the dereliction of churches continues unabated. Faith and superstition still die.
In Larkin’s day the mega-church had not yet been conceived. I refer to those enormous warehouse like centers where entertainment and pop psychology is offered for those who can afford to pay-to-be-told that all is well, God loves America first. That the ‘payers’ are, for sure, doing God’s will. Slick production values, commercial efficiency are hallmarks of these places.
Here are the lines of the Larkin poem that got to me. They conclude the tale of the visitation to the sanctuary of the abandoned church. The speaker wonders about others who like him, will feel drawn to enter this ruin:
Or will he be my representative,
Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation – marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these – for which was built
This special shell?
For, though I’ve no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
I was asked last night what I thought is to come next. Who is able to foresee what is to be made of this world? No one.
With the poet I think that something will rise up from the ancient debris, beautiful and unsettling and heavy with unknowable mystery.
2 thoughts on “So, Now What?”
I enjoyed poetry night very much. I attended a regular poetry reading group for years in the city in the home of a poetry professor who managed to steer without being professorial. I have missed that opportunity hence would relish another stab at this source of conversation any time. Thanks for the suggestion. D
My enjoyment of poetry grows with exposure. AT regular intervals I believe everyone would like a change from the usual essay based discussion. Poetry is the epitome of language use. Perhaps this in part is why Nietzsche is one of my favorite philosophers. His writing style sings.