"Funeral Blues" pretty much puts it all out there in the title: this is a poem about death. Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad death. After the death of his loved one, the speaker has no joy or hope. He is completely and utterly devastated. There's no silver living in this poem, no happy endings, no smiles or songs. There's only the notion that death is the pits, and not just for the dead—for the living, too.
There is no hope at all in "Funeral Blues." As the speaker says, "nothing now can ever come to any good."
The very fact that the poem "Funeral Blues" exists provides hope. Art has been made in the wake of the man's death. Poetry is a kind of hope.