Friday Poem: 'Not Waving But Drowning'

07 July 2017

By Pan Macmillan

A Friday Poem by Stevie Smith chosen by Cathy Rentzenbrink, author of A Manual for Heartache and The Last Act of Love. 

 
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.

A Poem for Every Night of the Year

A Poem for Every Night of the Year

Poem taken from A Poem for Every Night of the Year, a collection of 365 poems edited by Allie Esiri. 

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