Poet 3/52 – W.H. Auden - Part 1 of 2

W.H. Auden, a 20^th century English poet, has surprised me. Or, perhaps, it is a feeling of déjà vu. We, as a society, have come full circle back around to a time of economic hardship, war and political dissent. The more things change, and whatnot, I suppose.

His poem “Doggerel for a Senior Citizen”, a 1969 work, an old man reflects on the good old days. Although the references are outdated (the Edwardian age has long passed, after all), the sentiment is the same. The last stanza:

“When couples played or sang duets

It was immoral to have debts;

I shall continue till I die

To pay in cash for what I buy”

Dave Ramsay would concur. After running up some debt of my own in my wayward youth, I also agree. Sometimes, the old ways are best. Sometimes, simple is best.

“Funeral Blues” may be recognized by some. It was used to great effect in the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral”, and it is one of the two poems which in my opinion best describe mourning and loss.

“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.”

The notion of stopping the clocks is an antiquated one now, but the language is evocative. This first stanza, to me, represents going through the motions, similar to the Kubler-Ross’ first stage of grief: denial.

In the second stanza, the grief rises and moves from the home, the personal to proclaiming the news to the world:

“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.”

Consider the third stanza:

“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 grief rises, like hysteria, peaks and crashes, all in four lines. If a tear does not come to your eye, well, go back and read it again.

The fourth and final stanza speaks to the anger and desolation:

“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.”

The last line is haunting. This is how it feels, this is the depth of the misery, of loss, of the change in the world. I remember it well. This month marks the eleventh anniversary of the death of my beloved grandfather, Kelsie Fowler Harris. I still miss him, terribly. Poems like these help us grieve. Poems like these help us to remember the grieving.