Ahhhh poetry. There’s something about it that feels especially right by the bed, something to dip into before sleep, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, or in that funny in-between bit of the day when you want to read just a little something and feel whimsy. That’s exactly what I liked about Faber’s pocket poetry series: these tiny, lovely editions feel made to be kept close, and they make poetry inviting in the best way. No pressure to “get it”, no need to read cover to cover in one go, just a few poems, a line to underline, and the pleasure of coming back later.
The newest of the four is Talking in Bed & Other Poems by Philip Larkin, published alongside pocket editions of Wendy Cope, Stevie Smith and W. H. Auden. Together, they make such a lovely little set. I read them at a moment when poems about love were always going to find me pretty easily. Fresh from wedding celebrations and still in that slightly soft, honeymoon haze, I found myself drawn to poems that held love not as something pristine or dramatic, but as something more intimate than that: imperfect, funny, occasionally painful and all the more meaningful for it.
That’s part of what I loved about Larkin’s Talking in Bed. He can do that thing poets do that seems more accessible, where the language is plain and almost conversational until suddenly it isn’t, and a line catches you completely off guard with how exact it is. The title poem begins with such a simple, recognisable image: two people side by side in bed, “an emblem of two people being honest”. And then, very quietly, it turns towards the difficulty of actually saying the thing you mean, even to the person who knows you best.
“Talking in bed ought to be easiest…”
By the end of the poem, we’ve arrived at those final lines that are so good they almost make you wince a little:
“It becomes still more difficult to find
Words at once true and kind,
Or not untrue and not unkind.”
I love that slight awkwardness of “not untrue and not unkind”, how human it feels. Not grand declarations or perfect communication, just the effort of trying to say something honestly without hurting the person lying beside you. Reading it now, newly married and full of all the joy and tenderness of choosing a life with someone, I found it especially moving. It understands that love isn’t only romance or certainty; sometimes it’s just the quiet work of trying to be truthful and gentle at the same time.
Wendy Cope’s The Orange & Other Poems sits in a warmer, brighter register, though it’s no less emotionally astute for that. Cope can be very funny, but what I loved most here was her directness: the way she writes about love and everyday life without making any of it feel flimsy or overworked. Naturally, A Vow was my favourite poem, an honest promise, not I will always be perfect or I will never let you down, but something much more believable and therefore much more romantic. Her poems feel open-hearted and companionable, the kind you immediately want to read aloud to someone or copy into a card.
W. H. Auden’s Stop all the Clocks: Poems of Love and Loss broadens the mood a little, holding romance alongside grief, longing and heartbreak. I loved Carry Her Over the Water, which feels almost songlike in its rhythm and repetition, full of movement and charm. Read alongside the more melancholy poems in the collection, love poetry can hold so many moods at once: ache, devotion, delight, absurdity, tenderness.
And then there’s Stevie Smith’s Not Waving but Drowning, the slightly strange cousin of the set in the best possible way. Her poems are darker and odder than the others, more barbed and unsentimental, and I liked the way that shifted the mood. If Cope offers warmth and Auden romance, Smith brings something sharper and more unruly, a reminder that accessible poetry doesn’t have to be soft or comforting to be deeply readable.
What makes the series special is the way each offers a different language for mood or moment, and read together, they make a lovely little bedside library.
Written by
Amy @inkwells_bookshelf
A thirty-something, bookish, gingham-and-gaudy-mug-obsessed girl, and a firm believer that the best stories are read under a cosy duvet, with a strong coffee and a sleepy dog at your feet.
