Sunday 23 September 2012

Poems I love (2)

Another in the occasional series of poems that I love. This one is from my mother who I think had a first edition illustrated book of Stevie Smith poems; my image is an inferior tribute to the beautiful 'Creepy' by Matta.

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.