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Philip Larkin - Mr Bleaney

'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,

Whose window shows a strip of building land,
Tussocky, littered. 'Mr Bleaney took
My bit of garden properly in hand.'
Bed, upright chair, sixty-watt bulb, no hook

Behind the door, no room for books or bags -
'I'll take it.' So it happens that I lie
Where Mr Bleaney lay, and stub my fags
On the same saucer-souvenir, and try

Stuffing my ears with cotton-wool, to drown
The jabbering set he egged her on to buy.
I know his habits - what time he came down,
His preference for sauce to gravy, why

He kept on plugging at the four aways -
Likewise their yearly frame: the Frinton folk
Who put him up for summer holidays,
And Christmas at his sister's house in Stoke.

But if he stood and watched the frigid wind
Tousling the clouds, lay on the fusty bed
Telling himself that this was home, and grinned,
And shivered, without shaking off the dread

That how we live measures our own nature,
And at his age having no more to show
Than one hired box should make him pretty sure
He warranted no better, I don't know.

Added: on October 3rd, 2005 at 2:43 PM | Viewed: 10744 times | Comments (11)


Mr Bleaney - Comments and Information

Poet: Philip Larkin
Poem: Mr Bleaney
Volume: The Whitsun Weddings
Year: Published/Written in 1955

Comment 11 of 11, added on June 15th, 2006 at 4:55 AM.

i have had two days to write a five page essay on this poem, and i am not really into poetry i find it really hard to disect and interpret the underlying meaning. Thank goodness i founf this page! All of your comments have helped me in a way you would never know. thank you!!!!

J from United Kingdom
Comment 10 of 11, added on April 10th, 2006 at 3:27 AM.

Like most of Larkin's work in the 'Whitsun Weddings' collection, Larkin has to reflect on his own life when he considers the choices of others.

He is quick to dismiss Mr. Bleaney's lifestyle and his yearly routine. 'the jabbering set', 'preference for sauce to gravy' does not have a sound of ellegance to it. The room itself has curtains to small for the frame 'fall to within five inches of the sill' and as many people have said the fact that the room is has 'no room for books or bags' means there is no personalisation of the room.

Yet Larkin cannot see how this strictly routine character could have been happy with his life, in the last stanza Larkin says 'should make him pretty sure he warranted no better'. Quite stern words for someone who throughout his poetry never appears to be happy with his own life.

Liam from United Kingdom
Comment 9 of 11, added on October 3rd, 2005 at 2:43 PM.

I've just had to write a four-page essay about this damn thing. Still love it, though. It's just so... empty and lonely and sad, and nobody in this poem has a life of any worth or meaning.

Adrienne from United Kingdom

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