A CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE TREES, BY PHILLIP LARKIN

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The Trees
by Phillip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said;

The recent buds relax and spread,a
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 meditates, laments and celebrates the life cycles of trees. It is an evocative mix of emotions,
delivered with an economy of words.

The first stanza conveys the poet’s melancholy – instead of deriving joy and hope from the tenacious
growth of plants as they sprout new leaves to welcome a season of warmth – the poet see their budding
‘greenness’ as ‘a kind of grief’.

The choice of ‘greenness’ and ‘grief’ is inspired; these two words alliterate and the repetition of the
internal vowel ‘e’ in both creates a haunting rhythm. It concludes the first stanza with an impactful and
melodic image by associating a colour with an emotion.

The second stanza wonders about the cosmetic youth of trees. It asks rhetorically if the trees are ‘born
again’ while humans are destined to ‘grow old’. The poet then decides that no matter how tender the
growing leaves are, the trees’ appearances are merely superficial facades. Their true age will forever be
inscribed in the ‘rings of grain’ within their trunks.

This middle stanza relates to the preceding one. In the first stanza, budding leaves are compared to
sentences that are incomplete, dangling, not heard, ‘like something almost being said’. This startling
comparison is a reminder that the seasonal budding of trees is not merely about living; it’s about the
many deaths that that have been accumulated, now ‘written down in rings of grain’.
The final stanza is somewhat hopeful, with the vivid image of the trees’ thick thrashing crowns, luxuriant
and energetic in the sunshine each May. The rhyming couplet - 'May' and 'say' - along with the
repetition of ‘afresh, afresh, afresh’ wraps the poem up, with a succession of succulent sounds, almost
as though the leaves themselves are whispering these words.

At a surface level, Larkin is examining the growth of trees, casting his eyes on leaves, trunks and
whispering crowns. However, one cannot help but extrapolate this cyclic nature of growing in green
plants into the cyclic nature of life itself. This is a lucid and compact poem, composed and calm, that
laments how everything is dying, no matter their desperate attempts to stay youthful and hold onto life.
The Trees by Philip Larkin
The Trees by Philip Larkin is a three-stanza poem with an ABBA rhyme scheme and a
confused tone that shifts through a series of ideas from the poem’s beginning to its end.
While it is grounded in the notions of nature and the life of “trees,” reactions to the given
observations are numerous, and Larkin does not hesitate to take the reader on his
journey through each of those reactions. What the reader can find at the core of that
exploration, though, is something deeper than just nature. On that deeper level, this
poem is a commentary on life. Specifically, the examination of nature’s details highlights
a number of unknowns that mirror the uncertainties in life and the human inability to
change the most concrete of natural happenings. You can listen to and read the
poem here.

The Trees Analysis

First Stanza
In this first stanza, Larkin immediately grounds the reader in the focal symbols of the
work, which are “[t]he trees,” and the stanza remains locked on this subject. Initially, the
topic is addressed in a pleasant manner with visions of spring when “trees are coming to
leaf,” and the beauty of that scenario is key through Line 3 of this section. Larkin does a
wonderful job of detailing some of the most notable sensations of the approach of spring
that make the seasonal turn something to revel in and enjoy. After a winter of empty
branches, for instance, seeing new “lea[ves]” can spark a sense of eagerness, like
awaiting a comment that is being postponed, or “something [that is] almost…said.” Just as
you might sit on the edge of your seat, waiting to hear a statement that is delayed but
important, you can just as eagerly await the coming of new life in the spring.
The third line continues with this pleasant representation of spring’s approach by
referring to the process of plants growing as their “recent buds relax[ing].” This verb
choices brings a sense of ease to their development, as if they are carefree and ready
to embrace the new life before them.
In the fourth line, however, the tone takes a dark turn by labelling this light, beautiful
process as “a kind of grief.” The claim feels like an odd paradox, given how lively and
anticipated the process is noted to be in the previous lines, especially since Larkin is
referring to their life—“[t]heir greenness”—not as a reason for that “grief,” but as
the “grief” itself. This is an effective approach to leave the reader curious as they go into
the second stanza, regarding how Larkin could label new life as a noun so connected
with death and loss.
Second Stanza
Although the first stanza is seemingly constructed to leave the reader curious for an
answer concerning the newness of spring being labelled as “grief,” Larkin does not
answer this question right away. Rather, he dives into a new question: whether or not
these plants get “born again” while “we grow old.” The “we,” though he does not specify,
is referring to humans since there is no incentive to believe that he is speaking through
any kind of metaphor, linking the overall idea to a human lifespan.
This general question, that plants are revived while we pass on, could feasibly be seen
as the reason for the “grief” from the previous stanza. If a human had to witness
something that was borderline immortal, after all, their own mortality would feel like a
hardship. However, given that Larkin denounces the possibility before the end of the
second line—“No, they die too”—the notion is unlikely. There is no reason to feel grief
over the scenario if the plants are in no better shape than humans concerning the
course of life. With that understanding solidly in mind, the question sparked in the first
stanza continues through the second one without a definite answer, and the reader
must find purpose in this stanza elsewhere.
Fortunately, once the notion of plants not having too strong of an edge on human life is
set in stone, Larkin wastes no time in returning to his explorative notions. In doing so,
he notes that despite the ever-reaching feel of a tree’s lifetime, evidence exists within
trees to prove that they have, in fact, aged. While saying that their age can be noted
in “rings,” though, he takes an accusatory approach of essentially saying trees are
behaving in a deceitful way, that their recurring state is a “yearly trick” that is
undermined through investigation of the “grain” of the trees.
Without question, a tree’s age can be noted by examining its rings, but Larkin’s method
of delivering these details is quite aggressive, as if he is criticizing the tree for hiding its
secrets. While one could argue that this frustration with the trees’ misrepresentation—
looking youthful year after year—is the reason for the aforementioned “grief,” the notion
falls short since Larkin does not seem to mourn the fact that trees can continue to
appear healthy and vibrant. Instead, he just seems cynical about their ability to hide the
truth of their years.
In the end, this stanza offers little insight about why the “grief” is there, but it adjusts the
tone from thoughtful to irritable. This frustration over the unknown can be a mirrored
representation of a human frustrated with not being able to understand the deeper
meaning and practices of their own life, once more returning to the idea that the poem is
using nature as a way to elaborate on life itself.

Third Stanza
This final stanza turns the tone from irritation to complimentary when Larkin refers to the
trees as “unresting castles.” As “castles” have a connotation of being strongholds and
fortresses, the comparison denotes a solidness and strength that comes with little to no
condescension, particularly when paired with “unresting.” If the trees do not pause for
respite, their ongoing labour speaks of a being that has earned something—perhaps
their ongoing status of blossoming from year to year.
From that perspective, there is respect given to those trees that contradicts the
previously referenced frustration. This, too, can be a mirror in regard to life’s perception
because human reactions to life can vary from moment to moment. One moment, there
could be frustration, and the next could bring awe, much like Larkin’s reactions to
seasonal changes.

Diving further into this stanza, there is additional evidence that the trees have earned
their annual renewing since they are given credit for the process
of “thresh[ing],” meaning their seeds are being scattered by their own processes. Since
those seeds can lead to new plants, granting the trees the attribution for the process
makes their expansion toward new plant life their own accomplishment, like humans
leaving their mark through children and outstanding accomplishments.
It is interesting to note as well that the word choice within the first line mimics the
redundancy of the seasonal process that bring new leaves “every May” since there is no
grammatical reason to use “Yet” and “still” at the beginning of the stanza. Either word
would have been sufficient alone, but the decided use to employ both speaks of the
repetition of seasonal patterns, that these trees will continue to blossom and expand as
the years pass.
Only in the last two lines of the poem does the reader get resolution concerning
the “grief” from the first stanza, which could have been a specific choice on Larkin’s
part. This way, the answer to the question that has plagued the reader is the last thing
encountered. What that answer is, it seems, is that while the trees bloom and nature
shines, there is still the memory of the leaves and plants that came in years prior. A leaf
cannot bloom where another leaf already is, so its very presence is a declaration that
anything there beforehand had to pass on.
This idea is bluntly stated in the line, “Last year is dead, they seem to say,” with no
beautified language to cushion the harsh effect of the words, but then Larkin quickly
turns to his closing line of “Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.” Once more, we see the mimicking
of seasonal repetition with the three uses of “afresh,”but beyond that detail, it is another
striking contrast from one line to the next. Larkin turns from discussing the “dead” to life
that is “afresh” with little middle ground between them. Essentially, the last two lines are
a blend of that “grief” and the beauty that is reflected in spite of sadness of loss. This
mimics the plight of humans having to move forward against the loss of loved ones.
People mourn and feel the loss, but must keep going.
Overall, this poem has an uncertainty about it that contradicts the solidness of the
trees being described as Larkin journeys through ideas and reactions to the seasonal
process. He goes from appreciative, to negative, to irritated, to complimentary, back to
negative, and then to appreciative in an almost resigned concept of things
beginning “afresh” after nature’s yearly demise. What this seems to hint is that Larkin
does not know what to make of nature, though he simply has to accept it, and perhaps
that is the point of the poem in general. Nature—and life—are full of questions and
reactions, and in the end, all that those who are involved with either can do is wonder
and accept.
About Phillip Larkin
Philip Larkin is an English poet born in 1922 whose poetry grew in relevance and
acclaim following his first published work, The North Ship. His poetry was later influenced
by Thomas Hardy and dealt primarily with human emotion. In addition, he attended
Oxford and would eventually work in a library. Today, he is one of the most notable
names of poetry from his time period.

Philip Larkin was considered as one of the greatest English poets of the latter half of the 20th century. He
began his career as a librarian at Wellington, concurrently studying to qualify as a professional librarian. All
the while he continued with his literally pursuit, publishing his first collection of poems at the age of 23. It was
followed by two novels. Thereafter, he concentrated on poetry writing, publishing his second collection of
poems, ‘The Less Deceived’ at the age of 35. Although it made him famous, he took another nine years to
publish his third collection, mainly because of his preoccupation as the librarian of the Brynmor Jones Library
at the University of Hull. He wrote sparingly; in spite of that he became almost a household name, a rare fit for
a poet. Yet his ‘Selected Letters’, containing vulgar outburst against women, minorities, and working-class and
published posthumously in 1992, almost obliterated his reputation, labeling him as a misogynist and racist. His
reputation was finally restored when 31 years after his death he found a place in the Poet’s Corner at
Westminster’s Abbey.

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Childhood & Early Years

 Philip Arthur Larkin was born on 9 August 1922, in Radford, near Coventry, England. His
father, Sydney Larkin, had a unique personality, combining a love for poetry with certain
degree of nihilism. An admirer of Nazism, he twice attended Nuremberg rallies. A self-made
man, he later became Coventry City Treasure.
 His mother, Eva Emily Larkin nee Day, was a passive woman, who preferred to be taken
care of by her dominating husband. Philip was born younger of their two children, having an
elder sister named Catherine or Kitty, ten years his senior.
 When he was five years old, the family moved to a larger house near Coventry Railway
Station. However, he did not seem to have any happy memory about his childhood. Life was
cold and uneventful, neither friends nor relatives ever visited their home.
 Until the age of eight, Philips studied at home under the tutorship of his mother and sister.
Thereafter, he was admitted to King Henry VIII Junior School, from where he went to King
Henry VIII Senior School.
 Sometime during his school years, Philip started writing, contributing regularly to the school
magazine. He also developed a deep passion for jazz and his father encouraged it by buying
him a drum kit and a saxophone. Otherwise engaged, he did poorly in the School Certificate
examination in 1938.
 Despite his bad results, he was allowed to continue at school. He now started editing the
school magazine. In spite of that, he must have taken his studies more seriously because in
1940 he did fairly well in Higher School Certificate, earning distinction in English and History.
 In October 1940, as the Second World War was raging through, Philip Larkin entered St
John's College, Oxford, with English. Spared from joining the military service due to bad
eyesight, he was able to complete the full course.
 At Oxford too, Larkin continued with his creative pursuit, publishing ‘Ultimatum’ in the
November 28, 1940, issue of the Listener. This was his first poem to be published in any
national journal. For his prose, he took up the pseudonym of Brunette Coleman, publishing
number of works under this name.
 A passive and lonely child in his pre-university days, Larkin underwent a great change soon
after entering St John’s. Possibly in 1942, he met future novelist and poet, Kingsley Amis
and John Wain, with whom he formed a lasting friendship.
 They soon formed a group they dubbed ‘The Seven’. They met regularly, reading and
discussing each other’s poetry. They also played the jazz and drank a lot. ‘The Movement’,
which tried to establish the predominance of English poetry over modernist poetry, would
one day be born out of these gatherings.
 In June 1943, three of Larkin’s poems, ‘A Stone Church Damaged by a Bomb’, ‘Mythological
Introduction’, and ‘I dreamed of an out-thrust arm of land’, were published in Oxford Poetry.
Also in the same year, he graduated with a first class honors degree.
 Soon after leaving Oxford, Philip Larkin returned to Coventry, living with his parents for some
time. Finally in November 1943, he began his career as a librarian at Wellington, Shropshire.
While working there, he furthered his education, studying to qualify as a professional
librarian, concurrently continuing to write and publish.
 In 1945, ten of his poems appeared in ‘Poetry from Oxford in Wartime’. Later in the same
year, as his first book ‘The North Ship’ was published, these poems were included in it.
 In 1946, he had his first novel, ‘Jill’, published. Written between 1943 and 1944, while he was
studying at St John's College, Oxford, the story is set in wartime Oxford. This was also the
year when he became Assistant Librarian at the University College of Leicester.
 Also in 1946, he discovered the poems of Thomas Hardy and became one of his greatest
admirers, learning from him how to use everyday happenings to form the basis of his poems.
Later, he acknowledged that the discovery was a turning point in his career.
 In 1947, he published his last novel, ‘A Girl in Winter’. Although scholars like John James
Osborne found it to be “a harbinger of greatness” he did not publish any more fiction after
this, ostensibly for want of inspiration.
 In 1949, Larkin completed his studies, becoming an Associate of the Library Association.
Thereafter in June 1950, he was appointed sub-librarian at The Queen's University of
Belfast. Taking up the post in September 1950, he once again applied himself to writing
poetry.
 For the next five years, he had few poems published; most of his works being rejected by
established publishers. Undeterred, he published ‘XX Poems’, a small collection of poems, at
his own cost in 1951