Stevie Smith

NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING

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.

Stevie Smith, The Collected Poems of Stevie Smith


Not sure why I picked this poem other than it came to my mind recently. Stevie Smith has always been one of my favourite poets. This is not my favourite poem of hers, although it is quite powerful and perhaps one of her best known. It expresses a feeling that we can probably all relate to at some time or another. I think it captures, very simply, something of the nature of depression.

I have a special attachment to this poem because I recited it as part of the exam for my A-level in Theatre Arts. As an 18 year old "goth/hippy" revelling in despair and existential angst, this poem suited me very well. I also recited a soliloquy from the Euripides's tragedy, Medea. Medea, wronged by her husband, Jason, gets her ultimate revenge by killing his new love and then killing her own children. I recited the soliloquy in which she is full of doubt and agonizing over her decision, but ultimately chooses to kill her children. Fun stuff!

I took my A levels at the local college where you could go if you wanted to take A levels but not stay on at school. And there was no way I was going to spend another day in school. (It would be grade 11 and 12 here). We had a teacher who, now I look back, was in his early 40s and probably undergoing some kind of mid-life crisis. He'd done some new-age type seminars and was full of unorthodox ideas on how to inspire and motivate us. We'd spend classes sitting on the floor in circles talking about ourselves. We also spent many classes in the pub doing "social research" so that we would bring something richer to our character roles. Or some other such rubbish. Having said that, I think he broadened our horizons. When I started the class I was a traumatized 16-year old victim of the school system; a painfully shy and awkward loner (which was the main reason I forced myself to take drama). I will give him credit for encouraging me to break out of my shell, and helping me to build my self-confidence. And the other kids in the (very small) class were great too, I still stay in contact with a couple of them. Despite the darkness of this poem, when I read it now it actually brings back very fond memories of that time and of the people that I knew then. Funny how memory works.