#funeral poems

[theophan-o]

Erato złotowłosa i ty, wdzięczna lutni, Skąd pociechę w swych troskach biorą ludzie smutni! Uspokójcie na chwilę strapioną myśl moję, Póki jeszcze kamienny w polu słup nie stoję, Lejąc ledwe nie krwawy płacz przez marmór żywy, Żalu ciężkiego pamięć i znak nieszczęśliwy.

Golden-locked Erato, and thou, sweet lute, The comfort of the sad and destitute, Calm thou my sorrow, lest I too become A marble pillar shedding through the dumb But living stone my almost bloody tears, A monument of grief for coming years.

Jan Kochanowski (c. 1530-1584), Tren XV

English translation by Dorothea Prall (1889-1948)

*Only imagine that in Bohun's lifetime this poem was nearly 100 years old...

[theprettybluedreams]

This is for you

To my mother

Who always took care of my heart

Who walks me through life

Even when we are apart

To my father

Who gave up on his dreams and land

So I could have everything and more

Just at hand

To my cousin

Who is able to tear down my wall

Who picks me up before I fall

To my grandparents

Who gave me my personality and name

Who helped me become the person I am today

To my best friend

Whose love has always been the one

To show me I shouldn't lower my expectations for anyone

To my friends

Who showed me the world

And a piece of heaven

Who make me laugh

On our late night call sessions

I grew up with some of them

Some I got to know

Along the way

I'm grateful for all of you

[eltortaszilvafa]

Let Me Go

When I come to the end of the road

And the sun has set for me

I want no rites in a gloom filled room

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not for long

And not with your head bowed low

Remember the love that once we shared

Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take

And each must go alone.

It's all part of the master plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go the friends we know.

Laugh at all the things we used to do

Miss me, but let me go.

When I am dead my dearest

Sing no sad songs for me

Plant thou no roses at my head

Nor shady cypress tree

Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet

And if thou wilt remember

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not fear the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on as if in pain;

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

[shadowravenswing]

Dear Dad,

You are gone and I am here

Oh pain whom I sought through tears that tears through in the night

Tearing through in soul and body like a sharpen knife

In my thoughts, I am lost in my own fear, gasping for breath trying to understand

Imagination, I may have and yet a mystery to life I shall have

Grief weighs heavily on one’s shoulders, expecting to bear the burden that I am given

Tell me what is a daughter to do in light of your absence

How am I to keep the family together if you are gone

Such a burden to bear now that you are gone.

I am not even sure what can be done

Now that you are no longer here.

What am I to do, Dad?

You are simply a picture, a jar of ash and tokens of remembrance

You haunt mom, did you know that?

She misses you and wanders endlessly into the dark, searching for you hands and into your arms

I sometimes tug back, onto that rope I so dutifully craft yet it’s not enough

She goes to far and I’m dragged in

I’m tried, so so tired of sadness and grief

Of death and funeral processions

Tell me Dad, what am I to do now that you are dead 💀

[wolfythewitch]

The proper scholarly way of reading the iliad is to acknowledge that there is no good or bad and that everyone must be viewed with the same complex morality, but my preferred method is to pick out a babygirl or two and cling on for dear life

[hypnospilot]

So there's this tiktok post from a Christian who is genuinely asking what atheist funerals are like since all the comfort and discussion cannot center on the afterlife. Like, there is no concept of where the person is now, or seeing the person in the future like at theist funerals.

And this response just describes it so perfectly that I am stunned and wondered and compelled to share with everyone I know and everyone I don't.

[lunchboxpoems]

DRESSING FOR THE BURIAL

No one wants to talk about the hilarity after death —

the way the week my brother shot himself,

his wife and I fell on the bed laughing

because she couldn’t decide what to wear for the big day,

and asked me, “Do I go for sexy or Amish?” I told her sexy.

And we rolled around on the mattress they shared

for eighteen years, clutching our sides.

Meanwhile, he lay in a narrow refrigerated drawer,

soft brown curls springing from his scalp,

framing his handsome face. This was back when

he still had a face, and we were going to see it.

“Hold up the black skirt again,” I said. She said, “Which one?”

And then she said, “You look so Mafia Chic,” and I said, “Thank you,”

and it went on until we both got tired and our ribs hurt and now

I don’t even remember what we wore. Only that we both looked fabulous

weeping over that open hole in the ground.

DANUSHA LAMÉRIS

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of october

alfred starr a dark dreambox of another kind: the poems of alfred starr: "didn't you ever search for another star?

stephen spender new collected poems: "auden's funeral"

marianne boruch keats is coughing

noa micaela fields zoeglossia: poem of the week, may 17, 2021: "echolalia"

kevin young diptych

richard siken real estate

crisosto apache kúghą/home

mikko harvey for m

nathan hoks nests in air: "the barbed wire nest"

john a. holmes noon waking

crisosto apache 37 common characterisi(x)s of a displaced indian with a learning disability

oliver de la paz requiem for the orchard: "at the time of my birth"

zhang xun jiangnan song (tr. bijaan noormohamed)

paul violi fracas: "extenuating circumstances"

tianru wang after "yellow crane tower"

lloyd schwartz cairo traffic: "nostalgia (the lake at night)"

kamiko han the narrow road to the interior: "the orient"

rigoberto gonzalez unpeopled eden: "unpeopled eden"

adelaide crapsey verse: "to the dead in the graveyard underneath my window"

chester kallman night music

alan shapiro covenant: "covenant"

tom clark light and shade: new and selected poems: "radio"

tc tolbert my melissa,

charlie smith in praise of regret

carolyn kizer cool, calm, and collected: poems 1960-2000: "fanny"

julie sheehan orient point: "hate poem"

arthur sze the redshifting web: poems 1970-1998: "streamers"

joumana altallal everything here...in the voice of tara fares

abid b al-abras last simile

w.s. merwin to lingering regrets

george scarbrough music

shout me a coffee

[thatsbelievable]

[ruth-fleming]

my fiance @stephanie-lauter drew me this for my birthday. i was thinking about ruth's funeral :( and i thought that pete would pick out this poem for her funeral, but he would be too distraught to read it so stephanie would read it on his behalf.

[academic-vampire]

W.H. Auden,

“Funeral Blues”

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.

(This has always been one of my favorite poems.)

[theprettybluedreams]

I'm better now

I wish I had gotten to know you better

Not just your favourite colour

Or how many siblings you have

But also the thoughts

That kept running through your head

When you were lying in bed

I know I messed up

I had tried to put you in a position

You weren't supposed to be at

But I was broken and you seemed whole

I was healing; it was wrong

I hope you can forgive my heart

It never meant to break yours apart

I'm better now

[unalteredgraces]

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe by benjamin alire sáenz // father and son dancing by brian kershisnik // the pain scale by eula biss // the last of us part II // folding a five-cornered star so the corners meet by li-young lee // x //  funeral by phoebe bridgers // trista mateer 

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Hey. Can I request a web weave about thinking you're not someone people can love? Thank you. Take care.

-if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. but you know what i am.

i hope this is what you were looking for !!

Sue Zhao / Fatima Aamer Bilal my heart has claws / Julien Baker Funeral Pyre / pinterest / Chen Chen Nature Poem; When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities / Silas Denver Melvin Love as an Act of Merciful Conquer (via @sweatermuppet) / pinterest / Clarice Lispector The Stream of Life / Jane Austen

[thegirlintheplaidskirt]

the sun was out and i let it spill in to the room a whole hour before i needed to.

there was a feeling

and i let it wash over me with the morning.

i was still smoking half a pack a day

and using marijuana like sleeping pills,

but still,

i could breathe better, this peculiar morning.

my bed was no longer a boudoir

splattered in tones of melancholy.

it began seeming,

more and more like it was a tomb.

i was half-wishing ivy would spring forth from the marbled floor and wrap around my bed,

and mourners would bring hyacinths

or lilies or daffodils to leave at my crypt.

evidence of the death

of one who’s life was well-lived.

but alas,

morning turned into afternoon,

and nobody knew

that i was sepulchred by this feeling that the new day brought.

i suppose

you only grieve for those who lived well,

and the me that was entombed

had left claw marks on everything she had touched.

so she died in silence,

with no prayers to let her go to heaven.

and i went to the market

and bought hyacinths, lilies and daffodils,

a perfunctory gesture,

but a gesture all the same;

she was brave,

even if we all thought her insane.

she was still a part of me,

no matter how dead or decayed.

- i am a mosaic of all my mistakes; every girl i have ever been is eulogised in me.