NEXT UP! 2 180 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 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. Before reading Look at the title of this poem and the poem on page 183. Consider: How do these poems connect with the topic of the chapter, “Love and loss”? a playwright – leikritahöfundur to prevent – hindra muffled – dempað the mourners – syrgjendurnir to moan – kveina to scribble – krota a crêpe bow – pappírs-slaufa a dove – dúfa to dismantle – hér: taka niður W.H. Auden (1907–1973) was an English-born poet, playwright and critic. He left England just before the Second World War broke out and became an American citizen. The poem “Funeral Blues” was first published in 1936 and is one of his most-loved poems.
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