Tuesday, October 21, 2003
All that I'm feeling right now summed up into this poem...
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 airplanes circle
mourning overhead,
scribbling on the sky
the message: he is dead.
The great bows 'round the whitenecks 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 wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden
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Joyce.
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