gedichtendag, sad but beautiful


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 white necks of 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 for ever : 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.

W.H. Auden

2 reacties op “gedichtendag, sad but beautiful”

  1. […] is lang geleden dat ik nog gedichten las. Eén van mijn absolute favorieten is dicht gedicht van W.H. Auden. Onlangs stuurde Steph Goossens me zijn pralinendoos met crème-au-beurre gedichten, […]

  2. […] citeerde Christian Wikander, head of drama and entertainment bij SVT, W.H. Auden. Auden is met zijn Funeral Blues mijn favoriete dichter. Storytelling is a way of defining us as humans. The difference between human […]

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