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"Refugee Blues" is a timely and important poem that sheds light on the plight of refugees. It is a powerful reminder of the human cost of war and persecution, and it serves as a call to action for those who are able to offer assistance to those in need.
‘Refugee Blues’ by W.H. Auden is a powerful poem that describes the plight of German Jews seeking a refugee from the policies of Nazi Germany. The speaker begins this poem by suggesting that there are 10 million people in “this city”.
“Refugee Blues” was written by the British poet W. H. Auden. First published in 1939, on the eve of World War II, the poem meditates on the plight of Jewish refugees who were forced to flee Nazi Germany but unable to find refuge elsewhere.
Refugee Blues. Wystan Hugh 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.
Refugee Blues Lyrics. 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....
The poem comments on the condition of Jewish refugees from Nazi Germany in the years before World War II, especially the indifference and antagonism they faced when seeking asylum in the democracies of the period.
Jan 14, 2019 · 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.
By Dr Oliver Tearle (Loughborough University) ‘Refugee Blues’ is the title commonly given to the first song in W. H. Auden’s ‘Ten Songs’. The poem was completed in March 1939, while Auden was living in New York.
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.
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”:
