Directory of Lost Causes (By Quentin S. Crisp)

Not Waving But Drowning

It's strange how some poems come back to you seemingly unbidden. Recently Stevie Smith's 'Not Waving But Drowning' has been calling to me to be re-read. It's a very terse verse, but there's some power in it that stops it from becoming the 'old saying' that it seems always on the verge of being. Perhaps there are people out there who are familiar with the title, as a sort of idiom, but who have never read the actual poem. It's one of those. I'm never too sure about global relevance, those kind of things, but if such is needed, perhaps I could say that, even those who are only waving now will probably soon be drowning, as the 'quiet desperation' of the 'civilised world' collapses and gives way to simple desperation:



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.