No good English poets

[busker]

I think English poetry essentially died after Shakespeare. After him, we have an endless parade of charlatans like Browning, posers like Larkin, and effete pseudo-madmen like Shem. Broken here and there with true voices of genius in Henry Vaughan, Hopkins, and Dylan Thomas. 

I used to like Eliot, but it's hard to buy the argument any more that a rational human being actually believed that the creator of the universe sent his son who is also him and another person, in a universe that's been around for at least 14 billion years, to be killed by a Roman provincial governor as a blood sacrifice for the first homo erectus eating an apple. Yes, yes, all that can be interpreted as literary allegory, but you can't base a faith around that. So all that strutting about in a suit and wearing a hat, taking a cab, smoking a pipe and sounding posh all amounts to nothing.
Larkin built his reputation on saying 'the world sucks' 11,345 times, when the main problem was that he lived on a damp island. All his poems have the same structure of saying something seemingly mundane yet profound about how the world is bad, and taking four stanzas in coming to the conclusion that things weren't going to get any better.
His is the template that a lot of modern poets seem to follow. Look at this one, for instance. The lines in green are marvelous, but try saying that in fifty other poems and you're basically just on a whinge fest.

Mower
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found   
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,   
Killed. It had been in the long grass. 
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.   
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world   
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence   
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind   
While there is still time.

Really?  Are you just trying to stir the pot to see what comes out?  Otherwise, can anyone have so much hubris as to dismiss all English poets after Shakespeare?

What do you think?
Can you respect a man civilised enough to wear a tweed coat who lived through the early computer revolution and still thought that the “soul” went into suspended animation after death?