W.H. Auden (from Jay)

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This morning Lynn and I were discussing the familiar W.H. Auden poem below, and she suggested I put up this observation on the blog.

I'm not sure whether someone pointed this out to me or I noticed it on my own. The poem, which is one of my very favorites, is for the most part quite difficult to sound out. One feels that the speaker must be talking very slowly, in a monotone. It is as if his* overwhelming sense of grief has left him tongue tied. But he begins to break down in the third stanza, and the words come tumbling out ― haltingly at first ("my North, my South, my East and West") ― then in a free flow of tears ("My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song"). Just as quickly he shuts down again, and the last stanza is back to a despairing drone.

*As far as I can tell from a little Internet research, Auden had in mind variously male, female, and universal speakers/singers (the poem was originally written as a song with lines for both male and female voice) for different versions of the poem. Although it is not likely that any version referred to one of Auden's own partners, at one point he included it with other poems exploring same-sex relationships.

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 forever: 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 - Twelve Songs IX. Funeral Blues
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