Funeral Blues
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 wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W. H. Auden
時計を止めて 電話を切って
骨に吠え付く犬を止めて
ピアノもドラムも止めて
棺をだし 嘆きの列を通して
飛行機を空に飛ばし
追悼文を書きなさい
彼は死んだと
鳩の白い首に黒い紋章をはめ
警察は黒い手袋をはめなさい
彼は私の東西南北
毎日の仕事 休みの日曜
私の真昼 真夜中 おしゃべり 歌
愛は永遠と思った 私は間違っていた
星に用はない 一掃しなさい
月も太陽も とっぱらい
海も森も 遠ざけて
慰めになるものは何もない
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