All the lost clauses so full of importance,
all the sleepless and listless nights
unseen by human eyes,
the mithering misery of it all:
Stevenson's poem is about an imagined happy homecoming in death - a short poem of longing and returning, a profound sense of accomplishment and belonging. Larkin's is very much the opposite - a savage condemnation…
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Is this a poem?
Just because I say it is?
Or does it require more
alliteration and anomalies,
perhaps, or striking…
Their sculptures are playful with materials we want to touch and feel, they’re visually striking in colour and shape…
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