phone poem

My brother phoned last night and suddenly, in the middle of our conversation, read me this poem. He says it was read in the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral," and he was horrified I haven't seen it. Okay, I will fix that.

Here is a man who perhaps could use a morning traversing le dédale.

Funeral Blues

by W.H. Auden
(from "Another Time")

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 the aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message, "He is dead."
Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.
Let traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week, my Sunday best,
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;
Put away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good.