#refugee blues

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blues

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“Refugee Blues” by W.H. Auden

W.H. Auden wrote “Refugee Blues” in 1939 while living in New York City. It was the first poem to be included in a series called “Ten Songs”. The poem narrates the experiences of a Jewish refugee couple and the antagonism they encounter as immigrants in a new land.

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“Refugee Blues” - by W. H. Auden

“Say this city has ten million souls,

Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:

Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.

Once we had a country and we thought it fair,

Look in the atlas and you’ll find it there

We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.

Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,

A thousand windows and a thousand doors:

Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.

Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;

Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:

Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.

[blackandbluestains]

Refugee Blues

Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes: Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us. Once we had a country and we thought it fair, Look in the atlas and you’ll find it there: We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now. In the village churchyard there grows an old yew, Every spring it blossoms anew: Old passports can’t do that, my dear, old passports can’t do that. The consul banged the table and said, “If you’ve got no passport you’re officially dead”: But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive. Went to a committee; they offered me a chair; Asked me politely to return next year: But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day? Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said; “If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread”: He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me. Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky; It was Hitler over Europe, saying, “They must die”: O we were in his mind, my dear, O we were in his mind. Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin, Saw a door opened and a cat let in: But they weren’t German Jews, my dear, but they weren’t German Jews. Went down the harbour and stood upon the quay, Saw the fish swimming as if they were free: Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away. Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees; They had no politicians and sang at their ease: They weren’t the human race, my dear, they weren’t the human race. Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors, A thousand windows and a thousand doors: Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours. Stood on a great plain in the falling snow; Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro: Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.

W. H. Auden

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20 Giugno 2020- Giornata Mondiale del Rifugiato, in versi. REFUGEE BLUES di W.H. Auden

    20 Giugno 2019- World Refugee Day

  Oggi il nostro pensiero va a tutti i rifugiati del mondo, uomini, donne, bambini in cerca di un posto  che li accolga e li faccia vivere come persone libere. No other words than Auden’s ones, in English, because only the original language of the poem  makes you  “breathe and sense” the sad rhythm of “Blues”.

Refugee Blues

by W H Auden (1939)

Say this…

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20 Giugno 2019- Giornata Mondiale del Rifugiato, in versi. REFUGEE BLUES di W.H. Auden

20 Giugno 2019- Giornata Mondiale del Rifugiato, in versi. REFUGEE BLUES di W.H. Auden

  20 Giugno 2019- World Refugee Day

  “On World Refugee Day, I call on the international community to intensify efforts to prevent and resolve conflicts, and to help achieve peace and security so that families can be reunited and refugees can return home.” Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon

 No other words than Auden’s ones, in English because only   the original language of the poem  makes you …

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SONG Adapted from Audens Refugee Blues poem

[neniae]

Say this city has ten million souls.   Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:   Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.   Once we had a country and we thought it fair.   Look in the atlas and you'll find it there:   We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.

W.H. Auden, Refugee Blues, Another Time (1940)