Dearest Evelyn, I often think of you
Out with the guns in the jungle stew
Yesterday I hittapotamus
I put the measurements down for you but they got lost in the fuss
It's not a good thing to drink out here
You know, I've practically given it up dear.
Tomorrow I am going alone a long way
Into the jungle. It is all grey
But green on top
Only sometimes when a tree has fallen
The sun comes down plop, it is quite appalling.
You never want to go in a jungle pool
In the hot sun, it would be the act of a fool
Because it's always full of anacondas, Evelyn, not looking ill-fed
I'll say. So no more now, from your loving husband Wilfred.

Stevie Smith’s poetry is beguilingly simple, and incredibly impossible to imitate. It sounds childlike, artless, direct; in reality, it betokens a complete and utter originality: she’s certainly one of the most distinctive voices of the mid 20th century.

Which raises the question, why isn’t she more famous? I know I like her poetry; I like its irreverence and its whimsy and its no-holds-barred attitude to a number of society’s sacred cows. But somehow, her poems are not quite there - they fall just short of greatness. Maybe her subjects are too light; maybe her verse is just too pithy - I don’t know. Pity. But I enjoy them anyway.

— Thomas

Links

There’s a nice biography of Stevie Smith (and an essay wondering why her poetry isn’t more widely read) at http://community.wow.net/folio/Stevie_Smith.html

‘hittapotamus’ is straight out of Ogden Nash (though if I remember aright, Smith’s poem predates Nash by a goodly bit). Assorted pieces of Nashery can be found at the Minstrels website,
The Wondering Minstrels