Funeral Blues

I've been looking for that poem for a very long time... I've always thought that was the most beautiful text ever to express what i would feel if my special person died.. but my special person is not a "He" and more important she's still with me... but he was a He and he deserves those words...

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 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.

                  Wystan Hugh Auden, "Funeral Blues"

 

Eventhough no translation will ever be good enough for that kind of words, I've to admit this one is pretty good :

Arrêtez les pendules, coupez le téléphone
Empêchez le chien d'aboyer pour l'os que je lui donne;
Faire taire les pianos et sans roulement de tambour,
sortir le cercueil avant la fin du jour

Que les avions qui hurlent au dehors,
Dessinent dans le ciel ces trois mots:Il est mort
Nouez des voiles noirs aux colonnes des édifices
Gantez de noir les mains des agents de police

Il était mon Nord, mon Sud, mon Est et mon Ouest
Ma semaine de travail, mon dimanche de sieste
Mon midi, mon minuit; ma parole, ma chanson
Je croyais que l'amour jamais ne finirait, j'avais tort

Que les étoiles se retirent,qu'on les balaye
Démontez la lune ,et le soleil
Videz l'océan, arrachez la foret
Car rien de bon ne peut advenir désormais.

from L