Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the Telephone-W. H. Auden

    I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I don’t like sad poetry, but this one deserves to be an exception. I love AABB rhyming and the poem is fairly straightforward, which I appreciate; the narrator is crushed from the loss of their lover, whether it’s due to a breakup or death, and the poem is said narrator’s lamentation to the world. Grief escalates over the course of four stanzas, becoming more extreme as the narrator gives up on everything. The last stanza is my favorite: “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.” I love how this stanza makes the world sound like a stage full of props; all of these endless, immovable elements of our world sound insignificant, nothing in comparison to the terrible loss that has plagued the narrator. It feels like the end of an unsuccessful show; the props have been packed away and the stage is bare.

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