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Poet: Stevie Smith
Poem: Not Waving But Drowning
Volume: Not Waving But Drowning
Comment 24 of 24, added on April 19th, 2006 at 4:33 PM.
The nominal subject—a plea for help mistaken for a salutation—practically embodies the dominant theme of twentieth-century lyric poetry; that is, the agony of the insulated, isolated self, which keeps straining and failing to metamorphose into language. But Smith pushes things to the border of parody—the “dead one” is somehow “still moaning” (and moaning an unpoetic “Oh, no no no” at that), his life is flippantly eulogized by the phrase “he always loved larking” (larking?), and the simultaneously fussy and tub-thumping rhyme on “They said” in the second stanza puts a weirdly comic spin on the spectacle of a man’s heart giving way. One reaches for the word tragic-comic, but it doesn’t seem adequate; as in many Smith poems, we seem to be getting too much information, and not enough. orr
shalini from United States
Comment 23 of 24, added on March 28th, 2006 at 8:23 PM.
This poem is definitely a poem having to deal with society; I can see how many people see both sides of the poem- both the figurative and the literal- because it makes sense. More than anything, however, I feel like people should be able to learn from this poem that obviously outside appearances are often false.
Talia from United States
Comment 22 of 24, added on November 26th, 2005 at 1:40 PM.
BBC has a recording of Stevie Smith reading Not Waving But Drowning on their website. It requires Real Audio software but you can get that for free. http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/poetry/outloud/
I tend to agree with Fatima of Pakistan, this poem is about suffering in silence. To me this is the "human condition". Drug addiction, suicide, lack of communication, etc....it is all the same, just a different face!
David Roder from United States
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The nominal subject—a plea for help mistaken for a salutation—practically embodies the dominant theme of twentieth-century lyric poetry; that is, the agony of the insulated, isolated self, which keeps straining and failing to metamorphose into language. But Smith pushes things to the border of parody—the “dead one” is somehow “still moaning” (and moaning an unpoetic “Oh, no no no” at that), his life is flippantly eulogized by the phrase “he always loved larking” (larking?), and the simultaneously fussy and tub-thumping rhyme on “They said” in the second stanza puts a weirdly comic spin on the spectacle of a man’s heart giving way. One reaches for the word tragic-comic, but it doesn’t seem adequate; as in many Smith poems, we seem to be getting too much information, and not enough. orr
shalini from United States