The Trees by Philip Larkin

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Hey world,
Since it is spring I decided to do a little reflection on yet another recommendation, 'The Trees', by Phillip Larkin.
When I googled him, I clicked on some of his quotes, and there was one I particularly liked-
Life has a practice of living you, if you don't live it.

I thought that was very true. Live life to the fullest, world.
I have to say, Philip Larkin was a bit of a pessimist. His most famous poem is probably 'This Be the Verse', containing the immortal line: 'They F*** You Up, Your Mum and Your Dad'. This is a prime example of his pessimistic views of the world.
Anyway his (seemingly only) happy poem, The Trees is what I'm going to be exploring now. Here it is:

The Trees
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

This poem is appropriate for this time of year; it is short and sweet, but still makes one think. There are quite a few intricate ideas in this poem. The life cycle of trees has always been something of a symbol of hope, as their resilience and adaptation is incredible. To me, trees are like humans. They have such a strong desire to live and breathe; they will do whatever it takes to achieve this end. No matter what the atmosphere.
The cycle of rebirth in all living things is a very complex idea, and Larkin explores this through the renewal of life every spring. Despite all the joyous energy that surrounds us in spring, the poem has a nostalgic undertone:
'Is it that they are born again and we grow old?'
All the trees are bursting to life, but we watch from afar, growing older, and closer to death. Larkin realises that this constant life cycle does not apply to us every spring, and evokes a sense of melancholy as he tries to reassure himself that the sympathise:
'Their greenness is a kind of grief.'
Maybe the trees do not wish to be reborn; maybe they seek eternal peace like us? Who knows. This poem does however end hopefully:
'Begin aftresh,afresh,afresh.'
Never too late to start over world,
A.H🐝

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