This is the fifth poem by Larkin in this anthology and it’s one that straddles my self-imposed/copied categories. One could call it an “Intimations” poem as much as a “Separations” or “Desolations” one. It really doesn’t fit neatly in any, but it belongs in this anthology precisely because it mirrors real life: sometimes it’s just impossible to categorize a relationship (or its place) in the “love relationship pantheon”. I’ve “liked” it because of how compresses the whole arc of a seven year into just a few lines, but the sparseness of details does not deter one from absolutely “getting” what it was to the writer. There is a sadness in how desultory it was or meaningful (or not) to him. He isn’t quite a cad but certainly not a noble soul. And he doesn’t seem to have learned anything from the years it took of his (and her) life, even while “reflecting” through this account of the relationship. It leaves me both sad for him and wondering how many of us have had his kind of experience.
About twenty years ago
Two girls came in where I worked—
A bosomy English rose
And her friend in specs I could talk to.
Faces in those days sparked
The whole shooting-match off, and I doubt
If ever one had like hers:
But it was the friend I took out,
And in seven years after that
Wrote over four hundred letters,
Gave a ten-guinea ring
I got back in the end, and met
At numerous cathedral cities
Unknown to the clergy. I believe
I met beautiful twice. She was trying
Both times (so I thought) not to laugh.
Parting, after about five
Rehearsals, was an agreement
That I was too selfish, withdrawn,
And easily bored to love.
Well, useful to get that learnt.
In my wallet are still two snaps
Of bosomy rose with fur gloves on.
Unlucky charms, perhaps.
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