This is the first installment of Pommefrites -- to celebrate National Poetry Month which begins April 1st. The installment is funny in its own macabre way, and includes a nifty puzzle.
The following poem by Stevie Smith might seem to some a bit morbid, but I find that it serves to remind me to be a more vigilant and feeling friend.
In the accompanying painting, The Fall of Icarus, you can see Icarus only if you know where to look. That is the way it is with lots of us, as we cultivate our different mythologies about ourselves for those around us. How hard do we have to look at a person to see the genuine article. Is there an unseen Icarus somewhere in my life?
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.
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.
