ABSTRACT
Philip Larkin may seem to be even more disenchanted than Charles Tomlinson. The latter, at least, is fascinated by the phenomena that the outside world offers; the former circumscribes and qualifies his delights. If Tomlinson represents a poetry of attunement and self-contentment, Larkin represents a poetry of rejection and complaint. Tomlinson himself recognizes the intentional nature of Larkin’s philistine gestures but does not excuse or enjoy them; he also notes a “tenderly nursed sense of defeat” and “inability to place his malaise and evident willingness to persist in it” as similarly self-conscious stances. Larkin could, he believes, deepen this mood of malaise by taking on the influence of Corbière and Laforgue. Twenty-first-century Larkin critics may have attempted to restore his reputation, but so much damage has been done that a permanent cloud will shadow the poet’s legacy. Critics who trace the sources of Larkin’s unhappiness to his childhood often miss the importance of this all-consuming devotion to art.
