Strangers
Philip Arthur Larkin
1922 to 1985
The eyes of strangers
Are cold as snowdrops,
Downcast, folded,
And seldom visited.
And strangers' acts
Cry but vaguely, drift
Across our attention's
Smoke-sieged afternoons
And to live there, among strangers,
Calls for teashop behaviours
Setting down the cup,
Leaving the right tip,
Keeping the soul unjostled.
The pocket unpicked,
The fancies lurid,
And the treasure buried
Philip Arthur Larkin's Strangers
I am busy working to bring Philip Arthur Larkin's "Strangers" to life through some unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you later.
In the meantime, I invite you to explore the poem's themes, structure, and meaning. You can also check out the gallery for other musical arrangements or learn more about Philip Arthur Larkin's life and contributions to literature.
Check back soon to experience how "Strangers" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.
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