Mephisto2

There have been a few posts recently about poems and poetry in general. I quite like poetry so I'm going to try to get a new periodic post going hereby entitled Poem of the week.

I'll post a poem and I invite others to read it, comment upon it, discuss it.

Do you like it?
What do you think it means?
Do you like the sounds, the imagery?
What emotions does it engender?
Does it remind you of anything?
Do you have any stories relating to this poem?

You get the idea.

So here is our official first Poem of the week. Enjoy...



Not Waving But Drowning - Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.


Discuss.


Mr Mephisto

Mephisto2

The first time I heard this poem it reminded me of a drowning at a local bathing spot in Dublin. Some poor guy was in difficulties and was hanging on to a rock near the shore during steep swells. He was seen by a number of people, but didn't seem to be panicing so no-one took much notice. Of course the poor guy drowned and there was much soul searching in the local papers as to whether people had lost empathy or the desire to help, perhaps focused on "minding their own business."

It seems to me as if this poem was almost written about that event.

However I think it has deeper meanings. The final stanza does it for me. Could it be a comment on society in general? Or perhaps some poor guy who always felt on the outside? "I was much too far out all my life, and not waving but drowning." Perhaps if we took more notice of people around us, of their 'silent cries for help' we could avoid such tragedies, people going postal, abuse in the families.

Kinda heavy.

I also love the way this poem sounds. The way it rolls off the tongue...

Mr Mephisto

ubertuber

How about this part:

"I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning."

I can picture someone thrashing their arms for help and the people on shore thinking they are waving. Kind of like when you hear someone and you think they are laughing, but really they are crying.

I used to work in Residence Life at my school, supervising the RA staff. It really was striking how sometimes kids get to college and are desperate for help. All the while the people around them think they are waving when really they are drowning. That was the real trick to the work, to pick out the drowning from the waving - there's a lot of background noise.

Mephisto, is this poet American, English, or from your part of the world or somewhere else? Just wondering... I like this idea for a thread.

__________________
Cogito ergo spud -- I think, therefore I yam

Mephisto2

She was an English poet, born in 1902 in Hull, northern England. Stevie (her real name was Florence Margaret Smith) died in 1971.

A "fan-page" (for want of a better term) can be found at http://www.steviesmith.org/

Mr Mephisto

remiel

I read this poetry as part of a War Poets reading a few years ago. I love it, almost as much as I love Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon's poetry

ETA: I know she wasn't a "war poet" in that way, but in many ways she did in peacetime what others like her did in WWI in terms of poetry

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"Then said Joseph to St. Mary, henceforth we will not allow him to go out of the house; for every one who displeases him is killed."

Gospel of the Infancy of Jesus Christ, 20:16

Mephisto2

I have a few of the famous poems by Sassoon and Owen lined up for later POTW...

Mr Mephisto

Paeder

i really enjoyed the way the poem flowed and sounded as well. has anyone ever heard of f. scott fitzgerald's theory about the tone of conversation? i think that this poem is a good example of that theory. even without an understanding of the words, one could still grasp the general mood of the poem simply by how it sounds. i hope that made sense. this poem also seems to be filled with regret. it seems to trudge along dolefully. but, those are just my thoughts.

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"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."----Henry David Thoreau