Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home,
Strangeness made sense. The salt rebuff of speech,
Insisting so on difference, made me welcome:
Once that was recognised, we were in touch
Their draughty streets, end-on to hills, the faint
Archaic smell of dockland, like a stable,
The herring-hawker’s cry, dwindling, went
To prove me separate, not unworkable.
Living in England has no such excuse:
These are my customs and establishments
It would be much more serious to refuse.
Here no elsewhere underwrites my existence.
(Philip Larkin)
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Based on Topics: Sense & Perception Poems, Cry Poems, Home Poems, Speech Poems, England Poems, Excuse PoemsBased on Keywords: ireland, strangeness, recognised, customs, dwindling, archaic, rebuff, draughty, insisting, establishments, end-on