The Building by Philip Larkin

The poem, The Building, by Philip Larkin, though at first seems ambiguous; till its end it turns out to be a thought-provoking one. Entitled ‘The Building’, the poem does talk about a building, but assuming it as a hospital. While all through the poem, the poet has not used the term ‘hospital’, the use of certain words like ominous nurses, patient, death, sickness, illness, ambulances, check-ups, and a few more do let us assume that he is talking about a hospital.

However, when we reach at the end of the poem, we find Larkin meditating upon ideas of death, illness, religion and spirituality.


The Building Analysis

Higher than the handsomest hotel
The lucent comb shows up for miles, but see,
All round it close-ribbed streets rise and fall
Like a great sigh out of the last century.
The porters are scruffy; what keep drawing up
At the entrance are not taxis; and in the hall
As well as creepers hangs a frightening smell.

In opening stanza, we find Larkin sarcastically describing the building, and calling it ‘the handsomest hotel. This comparison of the building by poet shows that the building, assumed as hospital, is not only higher but also handsomest in appearance.

The use of term ‘handsomest’ in first verse shows that he is going to define the building in masculine form, but the term ‘building’ indicates its femininity.

Defining the handsomeness of the building, Larkin says that the glass windows are shining as if a ‘lucent comb’, but it is enclosed by criss-crossing streets (close-ribbed streets). He says the vehicles arriving at the entrance gate of the building are ‘not taxis’ rather they are ambulances. The building suggests medical advancement when the poet says: ‘like a great sigh out of the last century’, but that sigh could be deceptive as there lingers a ‘frightening smell’ within.

There are paperbacks, and tea at so much a cup,
Like an airport lounge, but those who tamely sit
On rows of steel chairs turning the ripped mags
Haven’t come far. More like a local bus.
These outdoor clothes and half-filled shopping-bags
And faces restless and resigned, although
Every few minutes comes a kind of nurse
To fetch someone away: the rest refit

After describing the building from outside, the poet starts comparing its inner condition to ‘an airport lounge’ where people can generally be seen reading the paperbacks, drinking tea, ‘ripped mags’ and sitting tamely, awaiting an arrival.

But that arrival isn’t as exciting as traveling and flying. The poet also notices that people have come there for ‘check-ups” in their ‘outdoor clothes’ with ‘half-filled shopping-bags’, which shows that they are here to do other more important things.

However, their faces are still ‘restless’ and ‘resigned’ as if they are about to receive a bad news related to their health. The scene becomes more serious when the poet sees nurses coming after every few minutes to ‘fetch someone away’. All these activities of the nurses make the people more fidgety and ‘curiously neutral’.

Cups back to saucers, cough, or glance below
Seats for dropped gloves or cards. Humans, caught
On ground curiously neutral, homes and names
Suddenly in abeyance; some are young,
Some old, but most at that vague age that claims
The end of choice, the last of hope; and all

In this part, the poet says that when the people enter this building they not only lose their individualities, but also build up a homogeneous group of patients; some of whom are young, whereas some are old. But they are all faceless numbers, gripped by the fear of sudden ‘abeyance’, and have come to this hospital-like-building ‘with the last of hope,’ and ‘with the end of choice’ in their lives.

Here to confess that something has gone wrong.
It must be error of a serious sort,
For see how many floors it needs, how tall
It’s grown by now, and how much money goes
In trying to correct it. See the time,
Half-past eleven on a working day,
And these picked out of it; see, as they c1imb

Through this extract, the poet further says that some come to this building to ‘confess that something has gone wrong’ with their health that is; there might have been some problems in their health. It must be an ‘error of a serious sort’.

Thereafter the poet brings sudden change in his tone and starts talking about the building. He says that with a view to housing this endless number of humans, there has been an expenditure of ‘much money’ for the nurturing of this building, and its staffs work here for ungodly hours. But still it is morbid.

To their appointed levels, how their eyes
Go to each other, guessing; on the way
Someone’s wheeled past, in washed-to-rags ward clothes:
They see him, too. They’re quiet. To realise
This new thing held in common makes them quiet,
For past these doors are rooms, and rooms past those,
And more rooms yet, each one further off

And harder to return from; and who knows
Which he will see, and when? For the moment, wait,
Look down at the yard. Outside seems old enough:
Red brick, lagged pipes, and someone walking by it
Out to the car park, free. Then, past the gate,
Traffic; a locked church; short terraced streets
Where kids chalk games, and girls with hair-dos fetch

Here, the poet finds people looking around at one another, and see them wondering if they will also be ‘wheeled off’ to the endless rooms, from where it is ‘harder to return from’. In fact they are afraid of the dark of hospitals from where some come alive, while some come dead. All the people are held with fear that will suppress all their hopes and will make them quiet.

Larkin says the building has so many rooms that it is very hard to guess (not guaranteed) whether one would come safe or not. And no one knows whether, after returning from there, he/she will see them or anyone of them who he had left before getting into the numberless rooms of the building.

Comparing this gloomy and serious atmosphere of the building to the outer world, the poet again changes his tone and says that out of this building, there lies normal world, where lie streets, pipes, traffic, freedom, a car park, and children playing their games.

On the contrary, the hospital-like-building is as a ‘locked church’, which has no hope of divine intervention. This is, in fact, like a prison where prisoners are kept confined until they complete their imprisonment. Similarly, in a hospital, the patients are kept until they have recovered from their health problems.

Their separates from the cleaners – O world,
Your loves, your chances, are beyond the stretch
Of any hand from here! And so, unreal
A touching dream to which we all are lulled
But wake from separately. In it, conceits
And self-protecting ignorance congeal
To carry life, collapsing only when

Here we find the poet saying that the building takes the people off their identity, and clothes them in ‘washed-to-rags ward clothes’. The whole world is like a ‘touching dream,’ an utterly unreal and false illusion towards which we get easily lulled, ‘but wake up separately’. The poet, Philip Larkin, says that all its loves and chances are beyond realities. There exits in it ‘conceits’ and ‘self-protecting ignorance’ which is engulfed with unrealism and falsehood, and the realities of the death are ‘congealed,’ and its harsh realities is known when brought ‘in these corridors’.

Called to these corridors (for now once more
The nurse beckons -). Each gets up and goes
At last. Some will be out by lunch, or four;
Others, not knowing it, have come to join
The unseen congregations whose white rows
Lie set apart above – women, men;
Old, young; crude facets of the only coin

Larkin further says that some are fortunate enough to escape the death, and come out early from this building, but others may have to join the non-discriminatory ‘unseen congregations whose white rows ‘lie set apart.’ When the poet says: “Each gets up and goes At last,” he may mean that one day everybody has to leave this world. The poet, through these lines, gets a little spiritual and religious. But others who are not aware of it may have to join ‘The unseen congregations’.

This place accepts. All know they are going to die.
Not yet, perhaps not here, but in the end,
And somewhere like this. That is what it means,
This clean-sliced cliff; a struggle to transcend
The thought of dying, for unless its powers
Outbuild cathedrals nothing contravenes
The coming dark, though crowds each evening try

With wasteful, weak, propitiatory flowers.

In this concluding stanza, the poet says death is a bitter truth, and we must not be afraid of it. No matter, whether, we offer prayers, flowers, or confess our sins or evil deeds to ‘transcend the thought of dying’, all our efforts will go ‘wasteful, weak, propitiatory’ until God contravenes. However, fear of death makes life much more valuable.

In the same ways the nurse instructs and encourages us as a grim reaper, and summons us to die though her intention is never so. She even doesn’t offer any hope of faint maternal comfort, but reaches us with frigidity. She is in fact performing her duty.

Death is a guarantee. It cannot be placated until the idea of its preventability gets morphed into an acceptance of its inescapability.

So, the main purpose of the building is to awaken the realization of a ‘clean sliced cliff’ whereby we will all be inescapably falling from.

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