According to the poet
According to the poet,
It began in ‘sixty-three,
When rhythms of the world were young
So many songs remained unsung,
And life was gentler in degree.
There had been rumblings, of course;
The signs were there some years before
That the secret might be out
(Arthur Seaton had put it about),
But few could tell what lay in store.
It should have been a watershed,
With inhibitions thrown aside.
The eager die seemed to be cast;
Expecting one big guilt-free blast,
The hordes queued for an easy ride.
But, once released, it took on airs,
Became a tacky fashion thing;
All its whistles and its bells,
Its multiplying kiss and tells,
Piled up into a heap of bling,
And novelty, of course, wore off.
It settled down as years rolled by at pace,
And morphed into a routine to impress,
A weary flaunting of success,
Or worse, a devastating loss of face.
Stephen Gospage
Wed 2nd Jul 2025 21:52
Thank you, Graham. That's very kind. Once I got going, I tried (!) to tip my hat to Larkin's style a bit and I'm pleased with the poem. But where did it come from? We go back to the poem that you just posted.
David- I think that Larkin would have liked to be Eric Morecambe, at least for a day. Perhaps he could have tried a double act with Ted Hughes. But who would have been the straight man?
And my thanks to all who liked this.