This lighthearted (or sardonic – see the comments below) poem by Philip Larkin reminds me of a short conversation I had with a Christian friend about the possibility of my developing dementia in my old age, to the point where I would forget God. She gently rebuked me for not remembering that it is in my spirit, my nous, that I know God most truly, and I would never forget him, no matter what happened to my fragile intellect.
One aspect of the mind that I notice in the poem is its coldness, as it’s likened to snow. By contrast, we might think of those whose hearts are warmed by the love of God. If you have people like that around, radiating into your life, it doesn’t really matter what facts they have forgotten.
THE WINTER PALACE
Most people know more as they get older:
I give all that the cold shoulder.
I spent my second quarter-century
Losing what I had learnt at university.
And refusing to take in what had happened since.
Now I know none of the names in the public prints,
And am starting to give offence by forgetting faces
And swearing I’ve never been in certain places.
It will be worth it, if in the end I manage
To blank out whatever it is that is doing the damage.
Then there will be nothing I know.
My mind will fold into itself, like fields, like snow.
-Philip Larkin
Gladsome Lights 
Of all the words I could use to describe this poem, ‘lighthearted’ wouldn’t be one. Perhaps I’m far enough down that road Larkin describes to appreciate its realism. On the other hand, the thought of a snowy mind brought to mind old television viewing, when a poorly connected antenna or troubles at a station could make the image ‘snowy’ and blurred. That’s not a bad metaphor for the condition he describes.
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Sardonic is probably a better word, which I couldn’t find in my own folding mind last night.
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I think also I may have been reading from that perspective that Larkin didn’t have, but which I strive for, that a holy fool or a saint might acquire, expressed by Chesterton when he said, Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.
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This poem is incredibly depressing to me!
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What is it about getting older that makes us have a tendency to want to read about aging and all the possibilities of what could enfold, short of glorification itself which we have to look forward to most of all. Therefore, I liked reading this poem written by Larkin.
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There are those who remained sharp until their end. I tried to dwell on their lives as examples, and God willing, I can maintain such sharpness even to a lesser degree. I particularly admire Jane Jacob, who published her sixth book (2005) when she was 88, one year before she died.
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I’m hoping for that, too! None of my parents or grandparents seemed to be afflicted with “snowy mind” at the end of their long lives, so I have good examples. But, as God wills.
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