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.
First I think it's important to note that "larking" in this context means "playing pranks." I didn't know the word the first time I read this, but I could kind of tell by context.
We read this poem a few weeks ago in my Reading and Writing Poetry class, and everyone had a slightly different interpretation. They were all insightful and lovely, but here's my personal take: this poem seems to me to be about the trouble so many of us have all our lives connecting to other people. We struggle, each in our own way, to be understood and to understand. I think a lack of understanding is at the root of most wars, whether they're the door-slamming, name-calling variety we wrestle out in the living room or the bloody, bomb-dropping kind we read about in newspapers. The misunderstanding here is literal--he's not waving, he's drowning--but in the last stanza it becomes startingly metaphorical and tragic far beyond an accidental death.
I read the last stanza as the man talking. Whether he's actually saying this or if he would say it were he still alive is a mystery, but it doesn't really matter. He's doing what all of us fear so much: looking back on his life and his struggle to connect with others and realizing, in his final moments, that he never really did.
How I wish this poem were just fiction.
On a slightly happier note, here's another blogger's take on how to make the most of life, in spite of all the big and little things that might get in the way. Check out her introspection and other musings.
No comments:
Post a Comment