Poetry

Theme : Grief 

Twelve Songs

IX 

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.  --> Hyperbole
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,    --> Metaphor
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;  --> Metaphor
For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

                                                           - W. H. Auden 

In this poem we see that the tone of poet is in grief and is devastated, because of the 

death of a loved one. 

And the message was to express his sadness and grief over this tragic death. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.   --> Metaphor
I am the diamond glints on snow.    --> Metaphor
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.    --> Metaphor
I am the gentle autumn rain.    --> Metaphor

When you awaken in the morning hush 
I am the swift uplifting rush   --> Metaphor
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.   --> Metaphor 
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

The tone of the poem is peaceful and calm, in a place of acceptance, 
The message of the poet is to confort the poeple who are grieving over death, to try and 

relate to them, to tell them they don't have to cry over death, and to help them accept the 

death and grief. 

 I measure every grief... 
                               
I measure every grief I meet --> Metaphor

With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine, 

Or has an easier size.
                  
I wonder if they bore it long, 

Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine, 

It feels so old a pain.
                  
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try            
And whether, could they choose between

 They would not rather die.
                  
I wonder if when years have piled--  --> Personofication

Some thousands--on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse 

Could give them any pause;
                  
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain

 By contrast with the love.
              
The grieved are many, I am told; 

The reason deeper lies,
Death is but one and comes but once 

And only nails the eyes. --> Metaphor

                  
There's grief of want, and grief of cold,

A sort they call 'despair,'               
There's banishment from native eyes,              

In sight of native air.

    
And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,          
                  
To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone                
Still fascinated to presume                 

That some are like my own.
                  
- Emily Dickinson