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 loved larking,
And now he’s dead
It was 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.
-Stevie Smith
Some poems depict beautiful, uplifting scenes and emotion. Stevie Smith was a modern poet whose poetry was dominated by morbid and depressing themes. These poems mirrored experiences she had in her life.
Stevie Smith was born in Hull, Yorkshire in 1903. She lived with her aunt, mother and sister in Palmer’s Green, London. She became a secretary in the magazine publishing company, Newnes, Pearson. She never married but had many boyfriends. She was thin, pale and she was frequently sick. She often discussed suicide as a possiblility for herself, and she was unafraid of death. Her last poem was called “Come Death,” and she wrote this after she became fatally ill. She didn’t want her life to be prolonged with misery and suffering, and suicide became a reality.
Stevie’s poetry was illustrated with imperfect doodles. She wrote in different ways, untied to form, from short prose-like pieces to long, ballad-like rhythmic works to stream of conciousness. Most of her poetry was dismal and about death, but written as though death wasn’t something to be feared or dreaded. It is almost light-hearted at first, but when carefully thought about, contains dark, deep meaning.
Stevie Smith talked of suicide often, and she ended up killing herself. In her poem, “Not Waving But Drowning,” she talks as the dead man, switching back and forth from the the first person to the third person. She says, “Nobody heard him, the dead man,.” The man is her, dead in the sea. Nobody heard him calling for help. Then she says, “But still he lay moaning,“ implying that he is not dead, but merely on the verge of death… moaning for help. “I was much further out than you thought;” she is using this poem as a hidden metaphor for her life – and death. At the end of her life, she was like that man, moaning, on the verge of death. She was serious about suicide, and her friends didn’t take her seriously. She was much closer to comitting suicide than they thought. “Not waving, but drowning.” She wasn’t joking, she was really thinking of suicide. Sinking into it. The next two lines, “Poor chap, he always loved larking/And now he’s dead.” She loved being alive, but now it’s all over. She’s going to die. “It must have been too cold for him, his heart gave way/They said.” The world got too cold for her, she wanted to leave. Then the next stanza begins, “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.” Stevie expresses that the world hadn’t suddenly become too cold, but it had always been cold. She had always been miserable, lonely. She repeats “Not waving but drowning.”
The poem isn’t only about suicide. It’s about lonliness. The man she speaks of was unheard and left to die, unsaved. He had a hard life, and nobody took him seriously. His friends didn’t hear his cries for help, not just when he died, but all his life. He really was not waving but drowning.