One comment on “Dodging the bullet.

  1. I feel a Stevie Smith moment here Graeme. Your watery imagery and your struggle to remain at least head above it put me in mind of one of my favourite poems in the English language.

    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.

    I think that Stevie Smith perhaps was too pessimistic, depending on how you interpret her writing here. You keep showing the reader how you are able to sidestep the deadly wave and rise again with the bluebells in all their beautiful glory to relay your thoughts and maybe the redemption that rides with them, or in spite of them.

    I understand too the struggle up the hill almost straight out of the front door in my case ie Limer’s Hill oup from Taddiport.

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