Not drowning

You know, it's further fitting that I named this blog a la deriva. I keep talking about FISH. Which is funny, because Sevilla is the furthest i've ever lived from the ocean. I'm also about to write an essay about the movie Mar adentro (roughly translated inside/within the ocean). A little encouragement, perhaps, from Ms. Stevie Smith (who's not Spanish at all). I always think of this poem when I look at the ocean.

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.