I Am Not Yet Dead

 

At my Poetry Group this week I read a poem by Louis McNeice.  It is called  I Am Not Yet Born and was written in the last few months of World War 2.

I am not yet born, O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat, or the rat, or the stoat, or the clubfooted ghoul
come near me.
I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me, with strong drugs dope
me, with wise lies lure me, on black racks rack me, in blood baths roll me ….

 

It’s powerful stuff and I was astounded to hear that our tutor, a Canadian woman who now lives in Tasmania, has written an ‘answer’ to it.  It’s published in her new book The Longest Conversation.

 

I am not yet dead, so hear me

Let not my senses dull to disappearance

O let me hear, O let me see

Until the darkness comes.

 

I am not yet dead, don’t ignore me

let not the fact that I’m not rich diminish me;

I worked for my money half a century

paid my debts to Caesar,

worked even longer for no money

to pay all other debts,  and still do;

I am not yet dead, and I am not useless …

 

I bought her book last week and am reading it one poem a day, but hadn’t reached page 77 where the poem is printed.  It’s extraordinary that, of all the poems I might choose, I settled on one with such a connection to our tutor.