Friday, May 14, 2004
//the world stops
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 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 woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
- W.H. Auden.
************
Two months ago, the last time our batch got together, you raised a bottle of beer to me and thanked me for driving all the way to see you.
Farewell, friend, brother. BROTHER.
Raise me a cry against loneliness stronger than I am a brother to my brother.
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