Friday, September 9, 2011

Poetry 162: Funeral Blues

Funeral Blues
Wystan Hugh Auden  

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 in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe 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 wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


  1. oooh. love your blog so much!!
    And I love this post really.)

    Can you answer on my question?

    What is your favorite place on earth and why?
    It s really intresting for me, becaurse I love travaling and photo.)

  2. Very nice poem, although I'm not sure how I feel about the negative delivery... until one's ow life is over nothing else is set in stone.

  3. I love this poem. doesn't that line really just say it all, "stop all the clocks"?

  4. Oh darling, this is beautiful as haunting.
    Have a wonderful week.


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  7. Hi I stumbled upon your blog and I think it's amazing, well done!
    I remember doing that poem a few years ago in school, it's maybe too gloomy for me, I prefer ones like "Tumps" by Wendy Cope :)

  8. Wow. Can just feel the sadness seeping in through the lines. Very beautiful.

    I can't stop reading the blog, looking forward to new posts. :) +1 Follower