Two songs for Hedli Anderson

Horfði á 4 weddings and a funeral um helgina, eða reyndar bara þann hluta sem jarðarförin er. Dáðist af skoskunni og tilsvörunum, eins og "do you know Oscar Wilde". "No not personally", " but I know someone who can get his fax number". Það var rétt áður en söguhetjan gaf upp öndina og elskhugi hans las ljóð eftir W.H. Auden í jarðarförinni.

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 crêpe 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 for ever: 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