Ulysses of the library

You could say that it was a dull story.

Yes, I gave you when, where, what

and at least I had a crack at why.

But not much actually happened. 

I was not like the action guy

whose brave deeds get the girl in the last shot.

The hero does not reflect much.

He does not need to. It's all instinct.

He goes in feet first, fists blazing.

 

His actions are driven by his gut.

His why, in the final analysis

does not stand up to much scrutiny.

At least you know something of my biography:

the beds I sweated in; the upside-down days

when rain pattered onto the rooftops

the frowsy sheets printed on my memory

the hopes and moods that impelled me.

I was the Ulysses of the library.

Philip Larkin is on Top of the Pops

Phil Larkin straps on his Gibson SG

for the blistering riff of Mr Bleaney.

It's his chosen weapon of attack.
He looks at Johnny Rotten – a flashback.

The Sex Pistols had outraged the country
with their foul-mouthed ranting on TV.

Thanks to their anthem, God Save the Queen
they were more outrageous than Benzedrine.

How he had admired their first LP.

when was still at the university.

He wrote a letter; Johnny said ‘join us’.
So he went down to London, on the bus.

His first gig was a room over a pub.

Next thing, he’s playing the 100 Club.

Steve Jones is toast, says the NME.
Larkin brings to the band a new energy.

See him swaggering down the King's Road

he has finally killed off work, the toad.

Punk’s gain is a loss to the library.
Each slab of noise is a sonic elegy.

There's a tender savagery to their sound.
Marr had Morrissey, Eliot had Pound

Lennon had McCartney; he has Rotten.

The grey mornings in Hull are forgotten.

Rotten scowls, from Sid a cheeky grin.
One, two, three, four … Paul Cook counts them in.

Smile like a fool, pull out the organ stops.
Philip Larkin is on Top of the Pops!