End of the weekend brings us a sad April!poem
I thought of this yesterday and almost forgot to post it. Not the most uplifting poem ever, to be sure. Sorry? It was a rainy rainy Sunday (and I watched Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law fight and BFF their way through Guy Ritchie's London and it was glorious) which makes this appropriate.
I first heard "Funeral Blues" in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral (which I enjoy, despite all the problematic storytelling and plot devices, but whatever) and was immediately struck by how perfectly it used mundane things to describe grief. Also, it's gorgeously heartbreaking in this scene (Matthew was always my favorite). Putting the poem behind the cut; you can skip if you want (would hate for sharing a poem become triggery for anyone) but I thought I should share it anyway.
Funeral Blues by W. H. 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 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.
I first heard "Funeral Blues" in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral (which I enjoy, despite all the problematic storytelling and plot devices, but whatever) and was immediately struck by how perfectly it used mundane things to describe grief. Also, it's gorgeously heartbreaking in this scene (Matthew was always my favorite). Putting the poem behind the cut; you can skip if you want (would hate for sharing a poem become triggery for anyone) but I thought I should share it anyway.
Funeral Blues by W. H. 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 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.