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Collected Poems
This New Directions Paperbook brings back into print the 1975 Oxford University Press edition of Stevie Smith’s Collected Poems, her complete poetic works edited by her long-time friend James MacGibbon. "On gray days when most modern poetry seems one dull colorless voice speaking through a hundred rival styles, one turns to Stevie Smith and enjoys her unique and cheerfully gruesome voice. She is a charming and original poet," commented Robert Lowell about the book that introduced Stevie to American readers, her Selected Poems (New Directions, 1964). The Selected won her many enthusiasts, but it was not until the release of Hugh Whitemore’s film Stevie in 1981 that her poetry found a wider audience and sent that little book repeatedly back to press.
The title of Miss Smith’s first published collection (London, 1937) was A Good Time Was Had By All, and indeed that is what her poetry, embroidered by her delightful, apposite doodles, provides. It brings us too into the company of wit, irony, and, as Brendan Gill remarked, "images of joy and terror." A Newsweek reviewer wrote, "Even in the lightest of her verse, the briefest epigram, there is a resonance, the reverberation of a triangle, if not a gong."
The title of Miss Smith’s first published collection (London, 1937) was A Good Time Was Had By All, and indeed that is what her poetry, embroidered by her delightful, apposite doodles, provides. It brings us too into the company of wit, irony, and, as Brendan Gill remarked, "images of joy and terror." A Newsweek reviewer wrote, "Even in the lightest of her verse, the briefest epigram, there is a resonance, the reverberation of a triangle, if not a gong."
592 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1975
8 people are currently reading
542 people want to read
About the author
Stevie Smith
73 books126 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name.
Florence Margaret Smith, known as Stevie Smith (20 September 1902 – 7 March 1971), was an English poet and novelist.
Florence Margaret Smith, known as Stevie Smith (20 September 1902 – 7 March 1971), was an English poet and novelist.
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
May 4, 2016
Never a fan of poetry that rhymes for its often churlish, childish, mundane pretension to structure, I was pleasantly surprised yet again that there was poetry of sonance and syncopation that was deliciously morbid and wonderful all at once! Smith's poetry is a weird mash of seemingly puerile juvenalia underscored by a fascination with death and awful things. It's Gorey-like, or "City of Lost Children" if you turned it into verse, at turns scathing and scarring, but turn-chinned with whimsy and peppermint and scowls.
I quite enjoyed it, despite my baffling dislike of the rhyming stuff.
I quite enjoyed it, despite my baffling dislike of the rhyming stuff.
March 22, 2016
Can I give Stevie Smith's poetry 100 stars? She is a favorite poet of mine. So witty, intelligent, droll, bleak (yet not bleak), and romantic but not like that kind of romantic.
People always quote "Not Waving, but Drowning" when getting down with Stevie, but they should pick another poem. I vote for "At School: A Paolo and Francesca situation but more hopeful, say in Purgatory"
At School
A Paolo and Francesca situation but more hopeful, say in Purgatory
At school I walk with Elwyn
Walk with Elwyn all the day
Oh my darling Elwyn
We shall never go away.
This school is a most curious place
Everything happens faintly
And the other boys and girls who are here
We cannot see distinctly.
All the day I walk with Elwyn
And sometimes we also ride
Both of us would really always
Rather be outside.
Most I like to ride with Elwyn
In the early morning sky
Under the solitary mosses
That hang from the trees awry.
The wind blows cold then
And the wind comes to the dawn
And we ride silently
And kiss as we ride down.
Oh my darling darling Elwyn
Oh what a sloppy love is ours
Oh how this sloppy love sustains me
When we go back to the school bars.
There are bars around this school
And inside the lights are always burning bright
And yet there are shadows
That belong rather to the night than the light.
Oh my darling darling Elwyn
Why is there this dusty heat in this closed school?
All the radiators must be turned full on
Surely that is against the rules.
Hold my hand as we run down the long corridors
Arched over with tombs
We are underground now a long way
Look out, we are getting close to the boiler room.
We are not driven harshly to the lessons you know
That go on under the electric lights
That go on persistently, patiently you might say,
They do not mind if we are not very bright.
Open this door quick, Elwyn, it is break time
And if we ride quickly we can come to the sea-pool
And swim; will that not be a nice thing to do?
Oh my darling do not look so sorrowful.
Oh why do we cry so much
Why do we not go to some place that is nice?
Why do we only stand close
And lick the tears from each other’s eyes?
Darling, my darling
You are with me in the school and in the dead trees’ glade
If you were not with me
I should be afraid.
Fear not the ragged dawn skies
Fear not the heat of the boiler room
Fear not the sky where it flies
The jagged clouds in their rusty colour.
Do not tell me not to cry my love
The tears run down your face too
There is still half an hour left
Can we not think of something to do?
There goes that beastly bell
Tolling us to lessons
I do not like this place much
That bell is the chief reason.
People always quote "Not Waving, but Drowning" when getting down with Stevie, but they should pick another poem. I vote for "At School: A Paolo and Francesca situation but more hopeful, say in Purgatory"
At School
A Paolo and Francesca situation but more hopeful, say in Purgatory
At school I walk with Elwyn
Walk with Elwyn all the day
Oh my darling Elwyn
We shall never go away.
This school is a most curious place
Everything happens faintly
And the other boys and girls who are here
We cannot see distinctly.
All the day I walk with Elwyn
And sometimes we also ride
Both of us would really always
Rather be outside.
Most I like to ride with Elwyn
In the early morning sky
Under the solitary mosses
That hang from the trees awry.
The wind blows cold then
And the wind comes to the dawn
And we ride silently
And kiss as we ride down.
Oh my darling darling Elwyn
Oh what a sloppy love is ours
Oh how this sloppy love sustains me
When we go back to the school bars.
There are bars around this school
And inside the lights are always burning bright
And yet there are shadows
That belong rather to the night than the light.
Oh my darling darling Elwyn
Why is there this dusty heat in this closed school?
All the radiators must be turned full on
Surely that is against the rules.
Hold my hand as we run down the long corridors
Arched over with tombs
We are underground now a long way
Look out, we are getting close to the boiler room.
We are not driven harshly to the lessons you know
That go on under the electric lights
That go on persistently, patiently you might say,
They do not mind if we are not very bright.
Open this door quick, Elwyn, it is break time
And if we ride quickly we can come to the sea-pool
And swim; will that not be a nice thing to do?
Oh my darling do not look so sorrowful.
Oh why do we cry so much
Why do we not go to some place that is nice?
Why do we only stand close
And lick the tears from each other’s eyes?
Darling, my darling
You are with me in the school and in the dead trees’ glade
If you were not with me
I should be afraid.
Fear not the ragged dawn skies
Fear not the heat of the boiler room
Fear not the sky where it flies
The jagged clouds in their rusty colour.
Do not tell me not to cry my love
The tears run down your face too
There is still half an hour left
Can we not think of something to do?
There goes that beastly bell
Tolling us to lessons
I do not like this place much
That bell is the chief reason.
April 22, 2013
Stevie Smith is my absolute favorite poet. I love Yeats and T.S. Eliot, but not as much as I love Stevie! I read her poems over and over again and never get tired of them. Her voice is unique. Her style is so conversational that it's possible to miss how tightly constructed these gems are. She is grotesque, witty, fearless, and fascinating. Her subject matter ranges from God, death, war, children, cats, hats, and just about everything in between. Her work has great subtlety and depth, and yes, a lot of humor. I always smile when I read The Deserter. Deeply Morbid and The Wanderer are personal favorites. But in my opinion, Thoughts about the Person from Porlock is her best work. Who else but Stevie would even think about making a poem from an incident in another poet's life? Coleridge was supposedly dreaming his poem Xanadu when someone knocked on his door and woke him up. That person has ever since been regarded as a murderer of the Muse. But as Stevie so rightfully points out:
"Coleridge received the Person from Porlock
And ever after called him a curse,
Then why did he hurry to let him in?
He could have hid in the house.
It was not right of Coleridge in fact it was wrong
(But often we all do wrong)
As the truth is I think he was already stuck
With Kubla Khan.
He was weeping and wailing: I am finished, finished,
I shall never write another word of it,
When along comes the Person from Porlock
And takes the blame for it.
It was not right, it was wrong,
But often we all do wrong."
This gives you a good idea of her style. Original,witty,funny, yet the poem goes on to talk about the death of creativity and the struggle of going on in a boring life. Yet it still is not depressing! She's much too clever for that.
Stevie deserves a lot more recognition than she gets. I hope more people will read her!
"Coleridge received the Person from Porlock
And ever after called him a curse,
Then why did he hurry to let him in?
He could have hid in the house.
It was not right of Coleridge in fact it was wrong
(But often we all do wrong)
As the truth is I think he was already stuck
With Kubla Khan.
He was weeping and wailing: I am finished, finished,
I shall never write another word of it,
When along comes the Person from Porlock
And takes the blame for it.
It was not right, it was wrong,
But often we all do wrong."
This gives you a good idea of her style. Original,witty,funny, yet the poem goes on to talk about the death of creativity and the struggle of going on in a boring life. Yet it still is not depressing! She's much too clever for that.
Stevie deserves a lot more recognition than she gets. I hope more people will read her!
Want to read
April 13, 2013Such a fun book to dip into!!!
I pulled this off the shelf to suggest it to a friend
and, of course, began browsing.
Love these short, seemingly digestible poems
which although generally witty and pithy have an underside of darkness
that actually gives you indigestion!!!
Such a pleasure...to be pushed into the abyss thus.
Death, god/God, doubt, grief, life, surviving, philosophy
...they're all (and MORE!!!) there to embrace you.
From here I immediately progressed to her first of three novels
"Novel On Yellow Paper"...in many ways a different kettle of fish!!!!
In 1977, 6 years after Stevie's death at 68, Hugh Whitmore wrote
the stageplay "STEVIE" which later became a film both starring
the ever-satisfying Glenda Jackson. I saw the film on TV many years ago.
There are over 300 poems in this selection.
I've chosen the final one to end... COME DEATH (II)
I feel ill. What can the matter be?
I'd ask God to have pity on me.
But I turn to the one I know, and say:
Come, Death, and carry me away.
Ah me, sweet Death, you are the only god
Who comes as a servant when he is called, you know,
Listen then to this sound I make, it is sharp,
Come, Death. Do not be slow.
I pulled this off the shelf to suggest it to a friend
and, of course, began browsing.
Love these short, seemingly digestible poems
which although generally witty and pithy have an underside of darkness
that actually gives you indigestion!!!
Such a pleasure...to be pushed into the abyss thus.
Death, god/God, doubt, grief, life, surviving, philosophy
...they're all (and MORE!!!) there to embrace you.
From here I immediately progressed to her first of three novels
"Novel On Yellow Paper"...in many ways a different kettle of fish!!!!
In 1977, 6 years after Stevie's death at 68, Hugh Whitmore wrote
the stageplay "STEVIE" which later became a film both starring
the ever-satisfying Glenda Jackson. I saw the film on TV many years ago.
There are over 300 poems in this selection.
I've chosen the final one to end... COME DEATH (II)
I feel ill. What can the matter be?
I'd ask God to have pity on me.
But I turn to the one I know, and say:
Come, Death, and carry me away.
Ah me, sweet Death, you are the only god
Who comes as a servant when he is called, you know,
Listen then to this sound I make, it is sharp,
Come, Death. Do not be slow.
February 25, 2013
"Never again will I weep
And wring my hands
And beat my head against the wall
Because
Me nolentem fata trahunt
But
When I have had enough
I will arise
And go unto my Father
and I will say to Him:
Father, I have had enough."
And wring my hands
And beat my head against the wall
Because
Me nolentem fata trahunt
But
When I have had enough
I will arise
And go unto my Father
and I will say to Him:
Father, I have had enough."
September 5, 2007
Beneath the simple prose and drawings there is a deeper and rather cynical tone to her writing. Very provacative.
June 4, 2020
4.5 stars. Writing a good lyric poem is extraordinarily difficult, so the collected poems of most poems are 80-90% blah or worse. A really astringent writer—like Donald Justice—might get his percentage up to 30-40%. A prolific, but almost sui generis, writer like Louis Simpson might approach 50%. And then there’s Stevie Smith: no one writes like this, though there is, at times, a kind of family likeness to Edward Lear. Sharp, funny, serious, totally offbeat (in at least two senses), Smith is simply astonishing.
January 21, 2022
Such a range of poetry here, dealing with with themes of death, loss of self, God, suffering, humanity. Smith has a unique voice (while also tuning into other unique voices) and fondly toys with the balance of dark and light.
Very excited to be looking in depth at her poetry over the coming months. <3
Very excited to be looking in depth at her poetry over the coming months. <3
February 11, 2025
I decided to read this because Nick Cave said Stevie Smith is his favourite poet. I initially hated this, but Stevie grew on me by page 700. The rhyming style made every word feel quite emotionally distant, but after I started getting used to it, I could see the complexities within each poem.
July 8, 2020
idiosyncratic poet, focus fascination on death and religion. Insightful and profound at times - qirky adn fun at others
January 2, 2023
There were a handful of poems that I liked, but overall this wasn't for me.
February 18, 2022
'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.'
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.'
June 6, 2011
This collection covers most of Stevie Smith's poetry over the course of her life. Her poems are mainly short, funny, and personal, though they occasionally veer into her views about religion.
I first read Smith in high school when we were assigned her most famous poem "Not Waving But Drowning". I read her again in college in an English lit survey class. She is certainly a fine poet and one of the most enjoyable of her period (I always link her with Phillip Larkin in my mind).
As with any collection of this size, not every poem is for every person. Nonetheless, the whole of this collection is something I can see myself returning to over time. Her acerbic wit on love and death finds a pitch perfect expression many times. This is the collection to have over the smaller ones available.
I first read Smith in high school when we were assigned her most famous poem "Not Waving But Drowning". I read her again in college in an English lit survey class. She is certainly a fine poet and one of the most enjoyable of her period (I always link her with Phillip Larkin in my mind).
As with any collection of this size, not every poem is for every person. Nonetheless, the whole of this collection is something I can see myself returning to over time. Her acerbic wit on love and death finds a pitch perfect expression many times. This is the collection to have over the smaller ones available.
March 28, 2007
Stevie Smith's poems are clever, calssic, and true. Her work is at once light and effortless, while making you see the profound. She discusses subjects such as death, religion, philosophy in a childlike, impish style. The illustrations are her own. She wrote under the name of Stevie to disguise her gender and had a lifelong career as a secretary to support herself.
October 10, 2007
Not Waving But Drowning cuts deep to the heart of the lonely individual in society. "She was further out than we thought..." Stevie Smith's poems are honest and clear with beautiful rhythm and painful images.
August 26, 2007
so worth your time
July 25, 2009
Not a favourite of mine.
May 26, 2010
Great collection.
Not waving, but drowning ...
Not waving, but drowning ...
November 4, 2012
I love the drawings that accompany the poems. Stevie Smith is one of my favorite poets. She's funny and dark.
April 8, 2014
Um, not the greatest poetry I have ever read. The illustrations were in many ways better than the poems. She were awfully prolific..
February 8, 2022
Love is life is loss
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews