Philip Larkin.  High Windows.

Philip Larkin. High Windows.

Author: Poetry from the Jungle from The Ceylon Press January 17, 2025 Duration: 1:45


When I see a couple of kids
And guess he’s fucking her and she’s   
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,   
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—   
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if   
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,   
And thought, That’ll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide   
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide   
Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:   
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.


There's a particular magic in the poem that almost made it, the one that lingers just outside the canonical spotlight. 101 Exiles from The Ceylon Press is a quiet space dedicated to those verses. Each episode of this Poetry from the Jungle podcast is a curated listening experience, focusing on a single, remarkable work by an acclaimed poet that, for whatever reason, never quite cracked the ubiquitous "top 100" lists. You won't find grand introductions or academic dissections here. Instead, the focus is on the language itself-the rhythm, the imagery, the quiet turn of phrase that deserves a moment of undivided attention. It's for anyone who believes the most resonant lines are sometimes found in the margins, offering a different kind of discovery in the world of verse. This podcast provides a sanctuary for those exiled poems, letting them speak for themselves directly to the listener.
Author: Language: English Episodes: 32

101 Exiles
Podcast Episodes
Philip Larkin.  Mr Bleaney. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

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'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayedThe whole time he was at the Bodies, tillThey moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,Fall to within five inches of the sill,Whose window shows a strip of building land,Tussoc…