Pilgrimage of poems: He always loved larking

Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day—the day you copy or print out or memorize a favorite poem to carry around with you and share with others. That generally means it’s going to be short and pithy; unless you have really tolerant friends or are taking a trans-oceanic flight.

Last year my PIYPD poem was “in Just- spring”, by e.e. cummings. And the year before it was another by cummings, “Plato told”. So I’m breaking with my own pattern by going for one by Stevie Smith, “Not Waving but Drowning”. It’s short, vivid and powerful.

Smith reminds me a little of Parker, and Brooks; damn, but the woman packs a punch.

“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.