Sunday, 15 September 2013

I Am by Stevie Smith


Far from normal far from normal far from normal I am
He sighed as he stood on the river bank and watched where the fishes swam
But ever the wind in the willow trees whispered, I am; I am.
He saw the variety of nature
The ant the mole and the sky
And resignedly hurried upon his way
Crying: I, I; I, I;

Then a priest came and told him if he was good
And thought as he ought and did as he should
He should be saved by the Lamb’s fresh blood.

Oh I know, I know the poor man cries,
I know the worth of the heavenly prize
And I know the strength of the race to be run
But my black heart cleaves to the strength of my gun.

Then he put his gun to his head and shot
Crying absurdly, I am not.


Stevie Smith, Selected Poems, ed. by James MacGibbon (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1979), 150-1.

No comments:

Post a Comment