Tonight, my friends, we are visited by Philip Larkin. No, not the puppy I’m still dreaming about, but work from the late poet himself. It’s a day for poems and “Days” is one of Larkin’s best, if you can choose bests from a body of work like that.
As for Philip Larkin (aka “Philip Barkin”) the mini-Maltipoo puppy, I sent an email today to a breeder. Don’t get wag your tail just yet, though; there’s still miles to go before I’ll be typing up the ol’ PG while a puppy licks my toe.
I’ve had the chance to revisit my research lately, though, that is true, and I just watched 20 minutes of puppy videos on YouTube. If my desire for Philip is like, a flare-up of some kind, I have officially left remission. I want my puppieeeee.
Anyway, here’s “Days,” as exquisite as the face of a 4-week-old puppy, just in a different, more existential, melancholy way.
by Philip Larkin
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?