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 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 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.
Though the Auden words are jarring and desolate- He expresses the initial grief that blankets us when the love of our life ceases to be. Solace will come, But, In time.
(I have lost two special friends- in the last few days, An immensely talented childhood friend, His voice in song and laughter will be sorely missed- a sacred but lamenting silence. A friend and client- his fully engaged participation and interest in the design process made this project more successful and just more fun. Both left beautifully strong women-these W H Auden words- are for them.)
Cy Twombly, "Untitled" paintings from here
