The poem
"Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain consciousness until the next morning. I was horrified to discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolable, and cried like a child to be killed or sent back to my aunt."
--Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor
Even so distant, I can taste the grief, Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp. The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief Worry of wheels along the street outside Where bridal London bows the other way, And light, unanswerable and tall and wide, Forbids the scar to heal, and drives Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day, Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare Console you if I could. What can be said, Except that suffering is exact, but where Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic? For you would hardly care That you were less deceived, out on that bed, Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair To burst into fulfillment's desolate attic.
This is Larkin's most honest work, it sums up the guilt of apathy we all feel about the horrors that some people live through. We simply cannot fathom this young girl’s plight; it is too much, too far removed from our lives. He was lambasted by many for his apparent indifference but I feel he expressed himself more emotively than we are willing to accept. It is too easy to shake our heads sadly and mutter how awful any abusive act is but it is brave to be brutally honest and say ‘I would not dare console you if I could what can be said,’ such resignation may not be considered correct but at least it is sincere.
I think this is one of Larkin's very best poems. I think what some might have seen as a failure of compassion on the poet's part is actually his grasping at the enormity of what happened; it's the fact that the act was so terrible that means that the poet couldn't comfort his subject; he feels her grief 'sharp and bitter as the stalks he made you swallow', even at distance of more than half a century and this is…
Read the whole commentI think this is one of Larkin's very best poems. I think what some might have seen as a failure of compassion on the poet's part is actually his grasping at the enormity of what happened; it's the fact that the act was so terrible that means that the poet couldn't comfort his subject; he feels her grief 'sharp and bitter as the stalks he made you swallow', even at distance of more than half a century and this is compounded for him as he imagines that fasionable London would have looked the other way, having no interest in the 'ruin' of a wrking-class girl.
But the conclusion hits you like a blow: for all her grief, the girl was 'less deceived' than the man who drugged and raped her, believing that this 'fulfilment' of his desires would make him happy. I think it's vital to remember that Larkin says that the victim was 'the less deceived,' not the less harmed or wronged. There is no lack of compassion here in this beautifully crafted poem which deals movingly with the grief of the girl but then surprises us with it's comments on the dreadful nature of uncontrolled desire. I think it's a masterpiece and I'm always somewhat surprised that, even considering the power of Larkin's more celebrated work, this poem doesn't attract more attention.