The View

The view is fine from fifty,
Experienced climbers say;
So, overweight and shifty,
I turn to face the way
That led me to this day.

Instead of fields and snowcaps
And flowered lanes that twist,
The track breaks at my toe-caps
And drops away in mist.
The view does not exist.

Where has it gone, the lifetime?
Search me. What’s left is drear.
Unchilded and unwifed, I’m
Able to view that clear:
So final. And so near.

Philip Larkin

It may be that Mr Larkin was experiencing a mid-life crisis. It may be that his choices in life ("Unchilded and unwifed") left him with regrets about falling short or being unfulfilled in some way. But I think really that, given what he has written elsewhere (see Dockery and Son) Larkin just wanted a good jumping-off point for a poem. Anniversaries are often worthy places to be more reflective and the higher the number, the greater the introspection. I don't think that this is law of any sort. Ninety-year olds may have reached a place of wisdom where regrets dissipate, like the years. Middle age reflection is more prone to sadness - "Where has it gone, the lifetime?"

I find myself somewhere in between these positions, not really having regrets, but seeing the time ahead as growing shorter. At 61 the view really does exist, but it is not a landscape full of flowers. Rather, one of mildly sunny uplands, diminishing in brightness, perhaps a little greyer than greener, hoving into view, though slightly out-of-focus. That will do really.