Sunday, August 06, 2006

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

(This poem by W.H. Auden was, I presume, read in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral. Millions across the world would have read this and cried, reminded of the gut-wrenching raw emotions that pilfer out during the loss of a near one. After all, Auden wrote this as a tribute to his lost partner, and it didn't seeem fitting that the world just went on as usual. One of my all time favorite poems).

1 comment:

hems said...

Awesome poem...