The poem
The kind old face, the egg-shaped head, The tie, discreetly loud, The loosely fitting shooting clothes, A closely fitting shroud.
He liked old city dining rooms, Potatoes in their skin, But now his mouth is wide to let The London clay come in.
He took me on long silent walks In country lanes when young. He knew the names of ev'ry bird But not the song it sung.
And when he could not hear me speak He smiled and looked so wise That now I do not like to think Of maggots in his eyes.
He liked the rain-washed Cornish air And smell of ploughed-up soil, He liked a landscape big and bare And painted it in oil.
But least of all he liked that place Which hangs on Highgate Hill Of soaked Carrara-covered earth For Londoners to fill.
He would have liked to say goodbye, Shake hands with many friends, In Highgate now his finger-bones Stick through his finger-ends.
You, God, who treat him thus and thus, Say "Save his soul and pray." You ask me to believe You and I only see decay.
Reprinted with the permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.
I believe that this poem was about the poet's dead father with whom he had a difficult relationship although it has never been fully described. However the poem conveys memories of happy times, some regrets and the horror of inevitable decay. There is the sadness of losing someone who was so close and yet so distance. This expression of conflicting emotions strikes a chord in the heart of anyone who has lost someone close, despite the nature of the relationship.
how are you ,/ iam fine, are you what do very deaf ,/ yes iam deaf ,
English?
I beliebe that this is a rather sad poem about a mans fathere eiqhgwoegt ywdf