It's wild how a poem as short as 'This Be The Verse' can pack such a punch, isn't it? Philip Larkin basically throws a grenade into the idea of perfect parenting with those opening lines—'They fuck you up, your mum and dad.' It's brutal but darkly funny, like he's shrugging at the inevitability of generational trauma. The rhythm feels almost nursery-rhyme-ish, which makes the cynicism hit even harder—like a lullaby sung by a grumpy philosopher.
What gets me is how Larkin doesn't even offer solutions. The last stanza just says 'get out as early as you can' and 'don't have any kids yourself.' It's nihilistic, sure, but there's a weird comfort in hearing someone articulate the messiness of family so plainly. Makes you wonder if he wrote it after a particularly rough holiday dinner.
The phrase 'So Mote It Be' has always fascinated me with its mystical aura. It's commonly associated with Freemasonry and occult traditions, where it serves as a solemn affirmation—like saying 'Amen' but with a deeper, almost ritualistic weight. The word 'mote' is an archaic term meaning 'must,' so it literally translates to 'So must it be,' implying inevitability or divine will. I first encountered it in esoteric literature, and it gave me chills—it feels like a bridge between the spoken word and cosmic forces.
What’s really cool is how it’s popped up in modern media, like in 'The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina,' where witches use it to seal spells. That got me digging into its history, and I learned it’s tied to the idea of words having power—speaking something into existence. It’s not just a closing line; it’s a declaration that what’s said will come to pass. Makes you think about how language shapes reality, doesn’t it?
The ending of 'So Mote It Be' really stuck with me because of how it plays with themes of destiny and free will. The protagonist, after struggling with the weight of their magical oath throughout the story, finally confronts the consequences in a climactic ritual scene. Instead of escaping their fate, they choose to embrace it—but with a twist. The oath isn’t broken; it’s transformed into something new, symbolizing growth and acceptance. The last few pages linger on this bittersweet victory, where the character’s sacrifice feels earned rather than tragic.
What I love is how the author avoids a clichéd 'happy ending.' The magic system’s rules aren’t bent for convenience, and the resolution ties back to earlier motifs, like the recurring imagery of knotted cords. It’s satisfying without being overly neat, leaving just enough ambiguity to spark discussions about whether the protagonist truly had agency or if the outcome was inevitable all along. That ambiguity is what makes it memorable—I still debate it with fellow fans!