WHO KNOWS WHY?

PHILIP LARKIN

IGNORANCE

Strange to know nothing, never to be sure

Of what is true or right or real,

But forced to qualify or so I feel,

Or Well, it does seem so:

Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:

Their skill at finding what they need,

Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,

And willingness to change;

Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge - for our flesh

Surrounds us with its own decisions -

And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,

That when we start to die

Have no idea why.

PHILIP LARKIN (1922-1985)

Απο τα COLLECTED POEMS, 1985