# Reading > Poems, Poets, and Poetry >  E.E. Cummings Poetry

## tarachan

My English teacher recently read us these poems by Cummings. I personally like his style. Anyone else?


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## ihrocks

"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near..."

I guess you could say I like him all right.

ihrocks

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## Ibtihaj

Yes I love the poet
I especially adore his poem (In The Time Of Dafodils(How know

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## Isagel

Just starting to read ee cummings. Came across this poem, and it&#180;s been in my head for days. I adore it, the rythm, the words (alliteration gets me evry time), but I have trouble understanding it. So, dear friends, how do you interpret this poem?


what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend: blow space to time)
-when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
the single secret will still be man
....

what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't; blow death to was)
-all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live

e. e. cummings

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## subterranean

Honestly this is the first time I ever read Cumming's and indeed it's kinda hard to understand

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## Sindhu

I hate trying to "explain" poems- it's like murdering them! But we all need it at times so here goes and I'm being brief- I'm sure you can do a much better job of expanding my hints, Isagel then I can.
There are two forces in the poem- the destructive, rapacious aspect oflife enshrined in the wind and the surviving, enduring positivity enshrined in the human spirit. Not in great men, or kings or queens, but in humanity as a whole. This second force is only very briefly indicated- the last line of each stanza. All the preceding lines in all the stanzas show the wind in a dance of destruction, blowing everthing awry and out of place- neither the seasons, nor the landscapes, not human dignities, not friendships or promises- nothing is exempt from that destruction. The only exception is the spirit of man which "is the single, unrevealed secret remaining, the indomitable spirit that after all this destruction "calls hello to the spring" and in indomitable optimism declares that in the most acute death there is also the most acute life.
Hope that helped a little!

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## subterranean

I thinks it's about seeing yourself or something from a different perspectives, what if things are different or what if something happened and turn everything upside down or changes everything. Notice the line "Blow King to beggar.."
Everything seems possible to happen, and with this poetry, Cummings tried to make us wonder about the other side of everything...

Oh..I'm being a smart arse here.. :Smile:

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## Sindhu

> _Originally posted by subterranean_ 
> *
> Everything seems possible to happen, and with this poetry, Cummings tried to make us wonder about the other side of everything...
> 
> *


Interesting- I think my point was to the effect that in this upside down opposite perspective world, the human spirit still manages to keep it's end up! :Wink:

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## subterranean

Oh, I don't really notice about the spirit thing, cause I only focus more on the physical perspective. True that materials can easily change, but when it comes to spirit it will never be that easy.

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## Eric00

hi everybody
WHy is e.e. cummings often called"the Robin Hood of the American poetic circle"? Cite examples to illustrate your point.
Thank you!

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## Scheherazade

I love ee cummings. You might find these sites helpful.

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/eecummings/

http://www.barleywinegraphics.com/ha...s/cummings.htm

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## Shore Dude

I really enjoy reading cummings.

Heh.

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## simon

I've never encountered EE Cummings before, but I liked his "anyone lived in a pretty how town". His use of language is origional, what with the lack of grammatical aids other than parentheticals.

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## Scheherazade

I love this, which I think one of the best love poems:


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

....

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands



and I love this too:


1(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness



and this:


Me up at does 
out of the floor
quietly Stare 
a poisoned mouse

....



Did I mention that I love cummings' poetry?  :Goof:

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## mono

> 1(a
> 
> le
> af
> fa
> ll
> 
> s)
> one
> ...


This seems a favorite of many, including myself.
A few other favorites of mine, along with the E.E. Cummings on my signature:

From "Songs VIII":

in the rain-
darkness, the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

....

---

From "One XXXIV"

life hurl my
yes,crumbles hand (ful released conarafetti)ev eryflitter,inga. where
mil(lions of aflickf)litter ing brightmillion ofS hurl;edindog:ing
whom areEyes shy-dodge is bright cruMbshandful,quick-hurl edinwho
Is flittercrumbs,fluttercrimbs are floatfallin,g;allwhere:
a:crimbflitteringish is arefloatsis ingfallall!mil,shy milbrightlions
my(hurl flicker handful
in)dodging are shybrigHteyes is crumbs(alll)if,ey Es

---

Xaipe 54

maybe god

is a child
's hand) very carefully
bring
-ing
to you and to
me(and quite with
out crushing)the

papery weightless diminutive

world
with a hole in
it out
of which demons with wings would be streaming if
something had(maybe they couldn't
agree)not happened(and floating-
ly int

o

---

Xaipe 12

two

o o
ld
o

nce upo

n
a(
n

o mo

re
)time
me

n

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## Scheherazade

I like those as well, especially "Xaipe 12". I hadn't read "One XXXIV" before and I am not sure right now I understand it properly. Maybe I should have another look at it when I am feeling a little brighter  :Goof: 

As for "1", there are so many interpretations, ways to read that poem, like "Xaipe 12" in a way, which is why what makes it so popular maybe... It is like watching the clouds on a nice day... Everytime you look, you see them taking different shapes and figures...

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## Reason is a cow

I love the work of cummings, and when I came across this poem, I fell out of my chair. It's so witty, humorously juxtaposed, and philosophical even that I was literally on the floor with happiness. Read it. What do you think?  :Banana:  oh, and how fitting for my nick name...hehe

From "the way to hump a cow is not"


the way to hump a cow is not
to get yourself a stool
but draw a line around the spot
and call it beautifool

to multiply because and why
dividing thens by nows
and adding and(i understand)
is hows to hump a cows

....

to vote for me(all decent mem
and wonens will allows
which if they don't to hell with them)
is hows to hump a cows 

ee cummings

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## genoveva

One word: gross!

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## mono

Wow, very . . . ummm, interesting poem, Reason is a cow. E.E. Cummings definitely seemed like one of the more odd poets - very passionate, creative, and original, but some of his poetry seems really . . . out there.  :Biggrin: 
I leave you to your own interpretations to another of Cummings' strange ones --




> may i feel said he
> (i'll squeal said she
> just once said he)
> it's fun said she
> 
> (may i touch said he
> how much said she
> a lot said he)
> why not said she
> ...

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## thevintagepiper

Those are both terrible. Yuck. Bleh.
As in, he's good with rhyme, but yeah....

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## arrrvee

hey, that's my favourite ee cummings poem. i just love the way he wrote about it. and it makes me smile..

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## Lycosparks

Oh I love so many of his poems... and yet there are still so many I cannot understand! Here is one of my favorites:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world


....

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## george1

Hi guys i needed some help with the poem 

"nobody loses all the time"

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added

....


Are there any really important lines in here that have a meaning beyond the literal .. and if so can someone paraphrase those for me

like can soemone explain waht this line means and then paraphrase it

sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which

also actually can someone explain this whole stanza
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added

and paraphrase it if possible ? :S that's confusing

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## mono

> Are there any really important lines in here that have a meaning beyond the literal .. and if so can someone paraphrase those for me


Hello, george1, welcome to the forum.  :Smile: 
To tell all honesty, I cannot decipher this poem from any meaning other than a darkly comical, straight-forward poem. The term Sol, meaning sun, may have some significance, but, other than that, the real significance lies in the title 'no body loses all the time,' meaning, in Cummings' very odd humor, that, even though the character wanted to raise a farm, he still did after death.  :FRlol: 



> like can soemone explain waht this line means and then paraphrase it
> 
> sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which


Of course with Cummings' style of never using a lot of punctuation, and the like, this sentence can read with some difficulty. Basically, it communicates that Uncle Sol could sing a song, entitled 'McCann He Was A Diver,' and that Uncle Sol usually sang it on Christmas Eve; 'like Hell Itself' merely refers to common phrases, in the same way of saying 'bat out of hell.'



> also actually can someone explain this whole stanza
> 
> Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
> of all to use a highfalootin phrase
> luxuries that is or to
> wit farming and be
> it needlessly
> added


Again, with Cummings' lack of punctuation, this stanza, too, reads with a challenge. The only thing this stanza connotates mostly states that Uncle Sol loved speaking in strange, witty, and seemingly intelligent phrases such as 'luxuries that is or to wit farming and be it needlessly added.'

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## george1

thank you for replying!

also is it possible to explain what the compasrion is with 
"i remember we all cried like the Missouri"
wat does the poet mean we cried like the Missouri?

also..teh aside that is made
"and down went
my Uncle
Sol

and started a worm farm)"

how did he mak ea worm farm? I mean wont he be the one being eaten by the worms?


thanks again

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## mono

Hello, george1, glad I can help!  :Nod: 



> also is it possible to explain what the compasrion is with 
> 
> "i remember we all cried like the Missouri"
> 
> wat does the poet mean we cried like the Missouri?


When 'crying like the Missouri,' this could mean a few things. I do not feel familiar with the amount of rainfall in the midwest United States, but I imagine it more applies to the great amounts of water flowing through the immense river - hence the great amount of tears at Uncle Sol's funeral.




> "and down went
> my Uncle
> Sol
> 
> and started a worm farm)"
> 
> how did he mak ea worm farm? I mean wont he be the one being eaten by the worms?


Precisely, in fact. This directs the reader to Cummings' sometimes very dark, cynical, and odd humor. Basically, Uncle Sol started a worm farm after his death in his grave. It does not necessarily mean the character _actively_ started a worm farm, but succeeded well, according to Cummings, merely by dying and getting buried.  :Biggrin:

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## george1

ok thanks again that was a lot of help understanding that poem  :Smile: 

by the way from what i can undersand the theme of the poem is basically not to give up as life contains unexpected events and eventually everyone will "win" at something they keep trying...but does he actually kill himself? 

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my Unde Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scrumptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and

also do u know what the poem is referring to when it says "a Victor
Victrola"



I know i ask too many questions ..lol just want to know  :Biggrin:

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## kilted exile

A Victor Victrola is a make of gramophone.

pic

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## quasimodo1

Cummings; one of my favorites since CU, his lightheartedness, the format and unexpected subject matter, unique forever. RJS

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## livelaughlove

I do like the content of his work, but the lack of necessary capitalization distracts me, though it does contribute to his individual style.

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## autumn rose

I really like his poems.His style is so different from most other poets.

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## subterranean

> I really like his poems.His style is so different from most other poets.


...And he was a fine artist too. 

His unique style (e.g. with syntax and pronunciation) probably what distinguished him from other modern poets: 

From *
"if i love You"* 

if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries

if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream
....

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## quasimodo1

Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a hillside, which every day we can take into our vision; there remains for us yesterday's street and the loyalty of a habit so much at ease when it stayed with us that it moved in and never left. Oh and night there is the night; when a wind full of infinite space gnawed at our faces. Rainer Maria Rilke trans. by Mitchell

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## quasimodo1

Although the quote from the Duino Eligies by Rilke may not seem to follow the Cummings discussion, I find they have some things in common. Just missed being contemporary, both used free verse, both used sensitive and romantic themes, both had an anarchist tendency. Cummings mixed with that Paris group made up of authors/poets like Ezra Pound, T.S.Eliot, John dos Passos, and even William Faulkner. Cummings was also a painter and married to a professional photographer. All these associations must have reinforced his advant garde style including the unusual language patterns which he used like no other. RJS

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## heikemarie

I like him a whole bunch (direct to: my sig).
However, it seems to me that the copycats for his work annoy me more than usual.

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## dramasnot6

Cummings- My second favorite poet right after Shakespeare. I LOVE his works, and cross my fingers to get a complete collection of them for my birthday.
When I read his stuff I connect with it so completely, I especially love:

if I should sleep with a lady called death

Humanity i love you

since feeling is first

may i feel said he

I have the last two memorized.

I'll post another good one that is short and sweet to glance at on occasion:




> love is a place
> & through this place of
> love move
> (with brightness of peace)
> all places
> 
> yes is a world
> & in this world of
> yes live
> ...

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## Daniel A. C.

I like Cummings because he is an individualist. He reminds me of Thoreau in his independent thought and his great appreciation for the true nobilty of people. He respected and loved life from his own vantage point, apart from the conventions of society.

I also like how well his poems are put together: on paper they look like they might wind up being disjointed modernist trash, but he always sneaks in rhythm and euphony to suprise you when the poems are read aloud.

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## quasimodo1

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) i fear no fate(for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows there is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

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## Aunty-lion

Yep. I love him to pieces. I think he is one of those rare poets who is not only realistic, but he is also an optimist! With so much pessimistic poetry and prose tearing at our souls and hearts, its nice to know that ee cummings will always find some good in the often unfortunate reality of humanity. 

In my sweet old etcetera, he exemplifies this. He may be about to do die in the trenches, but at least he is thinking about sex!

"dreaming,
et
cetera, of

Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)"

ee cummings

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## Scheherazade

Another favorite:

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things--
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless,the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

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## Sindhu

One of my Favourites- maybe because I read in it a warning! :Wink:  

*yonder deadfromtheneckup graduate...*


yonder deadfromtheneckup graduate of a
somewhat obscure to be sure university spends
her time looking picturesque under

the as it happens quite
erroneous impression that he

nascitur 

ee cummings 

(Back after a long time- Sindhu- :Biggrin:

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## Sindhu

Another favourite, due possibly to its uncharactericness :Idea:  

From "*Ballad of the Scholar’s Lament*"

When I have struggled through three hundred years
of Roman history, and hastened o’er
Some French play-(though I have my private fears
Of flunking sorely when I take the floor
In class),-when I have steeped my soul in gore
And Greek, and figured over half a ream
With Algebra, which I do (not) adore,
How shall I manage to compose a theme? 
It’s well enough to talk of poor and peers,
And munch the golden apples’ shiny core,
And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;-
While the great Alec, knocking down a score,
Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, “More!”-
But harshly I awaken from my dream,
To find a new,-er,-privilege,-in store:


....

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## tinustijger

> i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) i fear no fate(for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows there is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)


Love that one, I haven't read many other poems of his.

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## quasimodo1

If you like one poem by E>E> than you will love all his work. This particular piece I read at my daughter's wedding. With good diction and grace, I hope. quasimodo1

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## quasimodo1

any E.E. Cummings lover remember a piece with the line "...the little lame balloon man, whisteled far and wee..." been trying to find it, don't think it is the first line. quasimodo1

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## ktd222

> any E.E. Cummings lover remember a piece with the line "...the little lame balloon man, whisteled far and wee..." been trying to find it, don't think it is the first line. quasimodo1


This is the title:
Chansons Innocentes: I


I hesitate to post the poem because there are too many line shifts. I don't want you to lose any of the poem's meaning by pasting it here, which would just align every line to the left hand side.

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## quasimodo1

Thank you, this has been bugging me for weeks. quasimodo1

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## Mrs. Dalloway

I really like this poet  :Biggrin:  My fav poem:

From "yes is a pleasant country"

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

....

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

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## Mrs. Dalloway

From "suppose
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head."

young death sits in a cafe
smiling, a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger

....

there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
likes flowers.

e e cummings

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## blp

> This is the title:
> Chansons Innocentes: I
> 
> 
> I hesitate to post the poem because there are too many line shifts. I don't want you to lose any of the poem's meaning by pasting it here, which would just align every line to the left hand side.


You can keep the correct formatting by adding code tags, ktd. Just type it in as you would want it, then put [code ] [/ code] around it. (I've added spaces inside the brackets so you can see what I mean, so do the same, but without spaces).

e.g.



```
hello          mr. fish

       said    the 

cat                s  a   l    i      v     a  t  i  n  g
```

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## blp

> I really like his poems.His style is so different from most other poets.


Well, like a lot of modernist poets, he probably owes quite a lot to Gertrude Stein. 

Here's some of her work, from the book *Tender Buttons*:

*A Dog*
A little monkey goes like a donkey that means to say that means to say that more sighs last goes. Leave with it. A little monkey goes like a donkey. 

*A White Hunter*
A white hunter is nearly crazy.

*A Leave*
In the middle of a tiny spot and nearly bare there is a nice thing to say that wrist is leading. Wrist is leading.

****

And, from *IDENTITY POEM*...

PLAY I
I am I because my little dog knows me. The figure wanders on alone. 
The little dog does not appear because if it did then there would be nothing to fear.
It is not known that anybody who is anybody is not alone and if alone then how can the dog be there and if the little dog is not there it is alone.

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## ktd222

> You can keep the correct formatting by adding code tags, ktd. Just type it in as you would want it, then put [code ] [/ code] around it. (I've added spaces inside the brackets so you can see what I mean, so do the same, but without spaces).


Thanks, blp.

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## allisonaa

e e cummings is a personal favorite. he was a fascinating guy and worked at some really interesting stuff. it's too bad that he's not taught more and better these days. few instructors investigate what he was really all about and unfortunately wind up with very litte understanding of his work. i did a paper on him years ago and he became one of my heros. what do you know about him??

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## quasimodo1

To E.E. fans: When allisonaa asked what do you know about E.E. Cummings I realized I know nothing...just familiarity with his poetry and one first edition. So here is a source which so far is illuninating: 
http://project1.caryacademy.org/echo...._cummings.htm lets try that again that's better

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## quasimodo1

WHAT...no one wants to post about E.E.?

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## firefangled

_I wrote a book of poems for my wife and titled it after the last three lines(after the comma)from this e.e. cummings gem:_



if i love you
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly 
stern bright fairies

if you love
me)distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream

if we love each (shyly)
other,what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resemble beauty 
less than our breathing

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## subterranean

And for those who are also interested to find out more about his visual art  :Smile: 

http://eecummingsart.com/




> To E.E. fans: When allisonaa asked what do you know about E.E. Cummings I realized I know nothing...just familiarity with his poetry and one first edition. So here is a source which so far is illuninating: 
> http://project1.caryacademy.org/echo...._cummings.htm lets try that again that's better

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## dramasnot6

Hi fellow Cummings fans!
I'm in the market for a book with the complete works of ee cummings, does anyone know of a good one i can order off the internet?

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## quasimodo1

B+N was running a hardcover complete works in one volume sale about two weeks ago and i picked up E.E. for about ten bucks. Maybe it's still on. quasimodo1

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## Janine

> B+N was running a hardcover complete works in one volume sale about two weeks ago and i picked up E.E. for about ten bucks. Maybe it's still on. quasimodo1


Hi *quasi,* I am so excited to find this e e cummings thread. My friend, Downing, told me about it. Wow, I adore cummings poems. I wonder if that is the same book I have. I have had it for years now; mine is a hardback and my mother gave it to me for Christmas one year. I can't begin to tell everyone just how much I have enjoyed that book. I read it so much and recall some parts of some poems by heart, which I never seem to be able to do with other poets. I love the graphic way cummings wrote his poems. Bye the way, *quasi,* I know the 'balloon man' poem well. It is a great one. One of my favorites is "maggie and milly and molly and may". I like poems with seaside imagery and I love the lines: 

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

I will look it up on the net and post the whole thing tomorrow. It is from "95 poems" which I also own. I love mostly all the poems in "ViVa". My all time favorite cummings poem is "in time of daffodils (who know".... what a great poem, also from "95 poems".

The man was a genius. I can't wait to rediscover his poems. It will be such a treat. I will definitely be part of these discussions. :Smile:

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## Nossa

This and another poem are the only two I read by E.E. Cummings actually...but I just LOVED this one..

From "maggie and milly and molly and may"

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and



....

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## downing

Janine, seems that Nossa posted the poem sooner  :Smile: . Good, this will let me comment the poem a bit. I read all kinds of interpretation for this poem:




> maggie and milly and molly and may
> went down to the beach (to play one day)
> 
> and maggie discovered a shell that sang
> so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and
> 
> milly befriended a stranded star
> whose rays five languid fingers were;
> 
> ...


I saw somewhere an interpretation that maggie,milly,molly and may are adults and that they are going to the beach and become again children because they play. Sincerely, I do not agree with this viewpoint- I believe that the 4 girls are children and that they simply go to the beach and play. Another user on that site said that we can remark the girls' characters from their activities: he said that maggie was superficial because she forgot so soon her troubles, after listening to a shell's ''melody'' and so on....I do not agree with this interpretation either.
I think that the verses 


> may came home with a smooth round stone
> as small as a world and as large as alone.


are full of wisdom and they revolve around the idea of how huge loneliness is-even bigger than the world which we usually perceive enormous.




> For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
> it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.


The final distich refers to the ''moral''-we find ourselvs in the sea, possibly because when we look in the water, we see our reflection. And another idea I read is that the sea is a metaphor for our soul, so whatever we lose, it's always ourselves we find within us.

I can hardly wait to see your oppinions and come with other interpretations,as well.

----------


## dramasnot6

> B+N was running a hardcover complete works in one volume sale about two weeks ago and i picked up E.E. for about ten bucks. Maybe it's still on. quasimodo1


Thanks! I'll check it out.

----------


## Nossa

> Janine, seems that Nossa posted the poem sooner . Good, this will let me comment the poem a bit. I read all kinds of interpretation for this poem:
> 
> 
> 
> I saw somewhere an interpretation that maggie,milly,molly and may are adults and that they are going to the beach and become again children because they play. Sincerely, I do not agree with this viewpoint- I believe that the 4 girls are children and that they simply go to the beach and play. Another user on that site said that we can remark the girls' characters from their activities: he said that maggie was superficial because she forgot so soon her troubles, after listening to a shell's ''melody'' and so on....I do not agree with this interpretation either.
> I think that the verses 
> are full of wisdom and they revolve around the idea of how huge loneliness is-even bigger than the world which we usually perceive enormous.
> 
> 
> ...


First, I'm sorry, I didn't know that someone was gonna post this poem before me  :Blush:  
Now the only way I can interpret this poem, is summed up in the last couplet. The fact that each girl had a different thing when they went to the seaside, is exactly what the poem is trying to tell us. It doesn't matter what the girls are like, the point here is that each of them got what fitted here. In other words, each of the girls found what interests her, and that is further elaborated when the poet himself said by the end of the poem that whatever we lose, we can easily find, just by going to the seaside.
Now the part about whether the girls are children or adults, this can be debatable. I can relate to both opinions though. Maybe the girls ARE adults who go to the seaside to seek what they lost before, thier innocence, these childish dreams which the poet depicted. Such as making friends with a star or finding a singing shell. On the other hand, they might be just little childten who went to play near the sea, and through this scene the poet is also trying to convey the idea he said in the last two lines. He was trying to make us identify with these girls, and remember the child missing within each of us.

----------


## Janine

*Nossa,* This is one of my all time favorite e e cummings poems. I have read it hundreds of times. *Downing* was referring to the fast that I just emailed her the poem the other night and then I discovered this thread when she told me about it. No problem, that you posted it. I have others I would like to post, as well. I was thrilled to see someone else who loved the poem, as well as I do.

*Downing*, thanks for providing us with this insight into the reviewers comments on the meaning of the poem. It certainly gives us something added to consider. I, myself, look at the poem 'simply', since I love going to the seaside; I love hunting for shells and creatures on the beach. 
My favorite lines are the two stanzas that *Downing* has pointed out, especially the one about the stone. I, for one, always find 'my true self' when I go to the ocean's edge, so the last line means renewal or rebirth to me, personally.

----------


## Janine

Here is my all time favorite e e cummings poem

From "in time of daffodils"

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes



....

----------


## quasimodo1

To Janine: I didn't know you were so fond of E.E.Cummings. The man and his poetry were ahead of their time and whatever items in his biography that some might use to diminish his genious are a factor of his lifestyle and of only the most peripheral interest. Did you explore the great website I posted on this thread? quasi

----------


## Janine

> To Janine: I didn't know you were so fond of E.E.Cummings. The man and his poetry were ahead of their time and whatever items in his biography that some might use to diminish his genious are a factor of his lifestyle and of only the most peripheral interest. Did you explore the great website I posted on this thread? quasi


*quasi,* I did not get a chance to check out the site yet. I want to; thanks for posting it. I have been a big fan of cummings for years. I had a nearly complete book of his poems and several other smaller ones such as 99 poems. How could I ignore such a creative and graphicly expressive artist/poet as cummings. He was far ahead of his time and certainly was a great genius. I will be very interested in that site indeed. I have several works I picked up recently from the library free shelf - one is his prose piece "The Enormous Room", which I someday intend to read. I am tired so I hope I got that title correct. Now actually my brain is asleep so that is where I am headed, too. Goodnight!

----------


## Nossa

> Here is my all time favorite e e cummings poem
> 
> in time of daffodils
> 
> in time of daffodils(who know
> the goal of living is to grow)
> forgetting why,remember how
> 
> in time of lilacs who proclaim
> ...


WOW!! Simply great! Thank you SO much for posting is Janine. You're gonna make me start reading more of E.E. Cummings poems now  :Biggrin:

----------


## Janine

> WOW!! Simply great! Thank you SO much for posting is Janine. You're gonna make me start reading more of E.E. Cummings poems now


Hi *Nossa,* so glad you liked it. That is my all time favorite of his. This is my second favorite:




> somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond 
> by E. E. Cummings 
> 
> 
> somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
> any experience,your eyes have their silence:
> in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
> or which i cannot touch because they are too near
> 
> ...


The last line was used in the Woody Allen film "Hannah and Her Sisters". I nearly fell on the floor in the theater, when the line came up on the screen. I knew the poem so well by then. It seemed the line was speaking directly to me at the time. Interesting poem, is it not? 

Yes, I surely hope you do read more cummings - it is totally worth your while!

----------


## Adolescent09

Can someone please explain why these two poems are so profound? I've spent the last three days reddening my eyes sore with pondering:




> Xaipe 12
> 
> two
> 
> o o
> ld
> o
> 
> nce upo
> ...


and 




> 1(a
> 
> le
> af
> fa
> ll
> 
> s)
> one
> ...

----------


## Nossa

> Hi *Nossa,* so glad you liked it. That is my all time favorite of his. This is my second favorite:
> 
> 
> 
> The last line was used in the Woody Allen film "Hannah and Her Sisters". I nearly fell on the floor in the theater, when the line came up on the screen. I knew the poem so well by then. It seemed the line was speaking directly to me at the time. Interesting poem, is it not? 
> 
> Yes, I surely hope you do read more cummings - it is totally worth your while!


I sure will read more of his works. I just can't seem to find any of his works here...I searched yesterday in every place I know  :Frown:  
And I LOVE that poem you posted...Gosh, it got me imaging EVERY little detail he mentioned...just GREAT!!

----------


## Virgil

> Can someone please explain why these two poems are so profound? I've spent the last three days reddening my eyes sore with pondering:


Adol

I don't find them profound. Just because one arranges letters on a page in a fancy/different way does not make it profound. I know everyone else will throw tomatoes at me for saying this, but I don't find e.e. cummings profound. I'm not saying he's a bad poet; he makes me smile on occaision But I don't feel he's either revolutionary or deep or even in the top tier of poets of his day.

OK, everyone fling your tomatoes.  :Biggrin:

----------


## Janine

> Adol
> 
> I don't find them profound. Just because one arranges letters on a page in a fancy/different way does not make it profound. I know everyone else will throw tomatoes at me for saying this, but I don't find e.e. cummings profound. I'm not saying he's a bad poet; he makes me smile on occaision But I don't feel he's either revolutionary or deep or even in the top tier of poets of his day.
> 
> OK, everyone fling your tomatoes.


You asked for it - SPLAT!  

 :FRlol:   :Biggrin:   :FRlol:   :Biggrin:   :FRlol:   :Biggrin:   :FRlol:   :Biggrin:   :FRlol:

----------


## quasimodo1

To Janine: Nobody is going to throw anything but many of his works are profound and many are joyful. Top tier? How about near there. quasi

----------


## Janine

> To Janine: Nobody is going to throw anything but many of his works are profound and many are joyful. Top tier? How about near there. quasi


*quasi,* I fully agree! Throwing tomatoes only at Virgil....his idea! I was happy to ablige.  :Smile:

----------


## Adolescent09

All the kudos and flying tomatoes aside, can someone, that being the major advocates and fans of Cummings' poetry, explain the meaning of those two works I previously quoted?

----------


## Virgil

Oh my, right across my chest.  :Tongue:   :Tongue:  I'd prefer that on my speghetti.  :Wink:

----------


## Adolescent09

> All the kudos and flying tomatoes aside, can someone, that being the major advocates and fans of Cummings' poetry, explain the meaning of those two works I previously quoted?


Please, I'd really like to know. I'm not trying to be rude or anything (I see you guys like jokes), but it has really been eating away at me.

----------


## ktd222

> 1(a
> 
> le
> af
> fa
> ll
> 
> s)
> one
> ...


Adolescent09,

I dont want to tell you word by word its possible meaning because it would take all the surprise from you when you realize what the poem is achieving. But I can tell you how I would begin analyzing this poem; take each word that would be formed as a separate thought; then begin deconstructing those thoughts.
Hope I was helpful :Wink:  

By the way, I do like some of Cummings work, but some of it just gives me a headache when reading them.

----------


## Adolescent09

my god.. that's brilliant. Thanks so much I appreciate it. How unique  :Biggrin: .

I'm still trying to piece this one together though..:




> two
> 
> o o
> ld
> o
> 
> nce upo
> 
> n
> ...

----------


## Virgil

> Please, I'd really like to know. I'm not trying to be rude or anything (I see you guys like jokes), but it has really been eating away at me.


Adol, I don't think it means anything much. It's all style. Sometimes there is no there there.

----------


## Janine

> my god.. that's brilliant. Thanks so much I appreciate it. How unique .
> 
> I'm still trying to piece this one together though..:


Hi *Adolescent*, Sorry to have skipped over you like that. I took your first statement all wrong. I thought you did not like the poems and were poking fun at them; I'm so so sorry. Yesterday *Downing* and I were indeed talking on IM and trying to figure them out, as well, which proved to be rather entertaining for us. I told her they are somewhat like an anagram - is that the correct word for a scrambled word puzzle? Well, as any rate so far we have picked out some things from this poem - this is close I believe: 

Two old men once upon a time (no more). 

There are 6 "o" so that would work out. you can check the remaining letters for accuracy. I think you are free to place the words in any way that pleases you, but this is how I would read them, as I have them above. Like I had stated before about the first poem, I would say these are very much simplistic poems depicting one thought, much like a Haiku. They are fun to figure out I think, but as *ktd222* stated some can really produce a headache. I like best cummings poems with more form, but I do enjoy the very simplistic ones written artistically such as this one and the ones in definite patterns. Some become exceedly obscure, I believe, towards the later part of his career.




> Adol, I don't think it means anything much. It's all style. Sometimes there is no there there.


*Virgil,* get out of here! Say what??? 
I like best your 'SPEGHETTI' post.....now that one really gave me a roar!

----------


## Adolescent09

[QUOTE=Janine;409936] Some become exceedly obscure, I believe, towards the later part of his career.[QUOTE]

So it seems as if people love E.E. Cummings' obscurity. These two 'necklace'-worded poems sure are obscure! Thanks for replying to my inquiry.. I get the point just a little now..

----------


## Janine

> So it seems as if people love E.E. Cummings' obscurity. These two 'necklace'-worded poems sure are obscure! Thanks for replying to my inquiry.. I get the point just a little now..


*Adolescent* - that is an interesting way of describing them - 'necklace worded poems'. I don't think all of his poetry is obscure. The two I posted I did not think so obscure or difficult to interpret. Perhaps people do find his more obscure puzzle type/graphic poems intriguing. I do sometimes. 

I felt the second poem suggests that now two old men are gone or departed, so it conjures up the idea they were and now are no more - 'mortaliy' - in one word. That poem reminds me of the Simon and Garfunkel song "Old Friends", for some reason.

----------


## barbara0207

> I felt the second poem suggests that now two old men are gone or departed, so it conjures up the idea they were and now are no more - 'mortaliy' - in one word. That poem reminds me of the Simon and Garfunkel song "Old Friends", for some reason.


I think the two men are not dead yet, but may soon be.
When I read the poem I rather visualized two old men sitting on a bench talking about old times ("once upon a ... time"), when they were still young and thought there was a lot of time lying ahead of them. But now they have grown old and there is not much time left for them ("(no more) time"). But these three words also signify that the times they are talking about are no more. They have passed into a different time, that of old age. The two words "no more" sound like a sigh of regret, of longing for the days when they were young. Perhaps there were things they wanted to do but never got to doing. 

I think these associations are made possible by the form. If Cummings had written the poem in one or two lines, one would not spend so much time thinking about different connections of words, different sentence structure.

----------


## Janine

> I think the two men are not dead yet, but may soon be.
> When I read the poem I rather visualized two old men sitting on a bench talking about old times ("once upon a ... time"), when they were still young and thought there was a lot of time lying ahead of them. But now they have grown old and there is not much time left for them ("(no more) time"). But these three words also signify that the times they are talking about are no more. They have passed into a different time, that of old age. The two words "no more" sound like a sigh of regret, of longing for the days when they were young. Perhaps there were things they wanted to do but never got to doing. 
> 
> I think these associations are made possible by the form. If Cummings had written the poem in one or two lines, one would not spend so much time thinking about different connections of words, different sentence structure.


*Hi barbara,* this interpretation is excellent. I really like it. You have expressed it so well. I fully agree with your last line - this explains why Cummings wrote it this way. The different connections or sequences of words is something I too was considering. The poem is not static this way - it is more open to individual and varied interpretation - brilliant!

----------


## quasimodo1

By: E.E. Cummings

From "If"

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,---
But things couldn’t go right
For such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven, and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense 
But I’d be in suspense
For on such pretense
You wouldn’t be you

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seen fair,-
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

If



....

----------


## dramasnot6

I love that one...

----------


## quasimodo1

I think the two enigmatic poems you posted must be read a certain way, i.e. vertically and then you can form meaningfull words and expressions that were (in my limited view) E.E.Cummings attempt to match the look, timing and brevity of the item he was writing about. Of course it is senseless in normal parlance but he is one to take great liberties with the language. quasimodo1

----------


## Janine

> I think the two enigmatic poems you posted must be read a certain way, i.e. vertically and then you can form meaningfull words and expressions that were (in my limited view) E.E.Cummings attempt to match the look, timing and brevity of the item he was writing about. Of course it is senseless in normal parlance but he is one to take great liberties with the language. quasimodo1


*quasi,* excellent way of putting that! I enjoyed that last poem you posted very much. Glad to see this thread continuing. Keep up the good work. By the way, Q, e e never capitalized his name....sort of like quasimodo.... :Wink:  'e e cummings' always. He was a rebel!  :FRlol:

----------


## barbara0207

> *Hi barbara,* this interpretation is excellent. I really like it. You have expressed it so well. I fully agree with your last line - this explains why Cummings wrote it this way. The different connections or sequences of words is something I too was considering. The poem is not static this way - it is more open to individual and varied interpretation - brilliant!


Thanks. *blushes*

Yes, I really think he did a brilliant job. Each time I read it I found something new - and it's only one sentence. 

When I'm back in a fortnight we might perhaps discuss my all-time favourite: 'my sweet old etcetera' - if people are interested. So long!

----------


## quasimodo1

(another great one from e.e.)
Great Dante stands in Florence, looking down
In marble on the centuries. Ye spell,
Beaneath his feet who walked in Heaven and Hell,
“L’Italia.” Here no longer lord and clown
Cringe, as of yore, to the immortal frown
Of him who loved Italy too well:
Silent he stands, and like a sentinel
Stares from beneath those brows of dread renown.


....

----------


## Janine

*quasimodo,* Glad to see this thread still going. I like cumming so much. Thanks for that last poem. I enjoyed it very much and I don't remember it from my book. Interesting last line. Nice use of illiteration.

Wow, can't wait to hear more cummings!

----------


## white camellia

Charming!

Painting:
http://eecummingsart.com/gallery.php

Music:

Sonnets Unrealities XI
Bjork

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

---ee cummings 'it may not always be so; and i say'

----------


## dramasnot6

> (another great one from e.e.)Great Dante stands in Florence, looking down
> In marble on the centuries. Ye spell,
> Beaneath his feet who walked in Heaven and Hell,
> “L’Italia.” Here no longer lord and clown
> Cringe, as of yore, to the immortal frown
> Of him who loved Italy too well:
> Silent he stands, and like a sentinel
> Stares from beneath those brows of dread renown.
> 
> ....


 :Biggrin:  A great one! thanks for that quasi

----------


## Janine

> Charming!
> 
> Painting:
> http://eecummingsart.com/gallery.php
> 
> Music:
> 
> Sonnets Unrealities XI
> Bjork
> ...


I have read this one before years back - what a great poem. Thanks for posting it *white camellia*. I love this thread!

----------


## quasimodo1

http://www.gvsu.edu/english/cummings/Patchin.html An interesting visual of e.e.cummings living spaces. Great Site. quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------e.e.cummings From "XLI Poems, Portraits, III"

Picasso
you give us Things
which
bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind

you make us shrill
presents always
shut in the sumptuous screech of
simplicity

(out of the
black unbunged
Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes
or



....

----------


## white camellia

> I have read this one before years back - what a great poem. Thanks for posting it *white camellia*. I love this thread!


Nice, Janine. Lots of other poems from him I like, but this one had not been posted and it's great too. 
btw, that's a fantastic painting you got from O'Keeffe. I once borrowed her biography from school library and was quite impressed.

----------


## dramasnot6

I dont know if this has already been posted, but i find it lovely...

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she


(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she


(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)


may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she


may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she


but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

....

----------


## quasimodo1

From "O sweet spontaneous"

O sweet spontaneous 
earth how often have 
the 
doting 

fingers of 
purient philosophers pinched 
and 
poked 

thee 
,has the naughty thumb 
of science prodded 
thy 

beauty .how 
oftn have religions taken 
thee upon their scraggy knees 
squeezing and 

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive 
gods 
(but 
true 

....

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

I love that poem:


(Me up at does) 


Me up at does

out of the floor
quietly Stare

a poisoned mouse

still who alive

is asking What
have i done that

You wouldn't have


ee cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

If this link works, the voice of e.e. himself on the BBC http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcfour/audioin...mmingse1.shtml quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

Re: on accessing this recording...you have to locate the play the recording note in the middle of the page and click on that before you can hear this amazing bit of audio. quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

it is at moments after i have dreamed 
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds


....

e.e.cummings

----------


## Janine

> it is at moments after i have dreamed 
> it is at moments after i have dreamed
> of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
> when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed
> 
> with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
> at moments when the glassy darkness holds
> 
> 
> e.e.cummings


*quasi,* this is another one of my favorites. I have read it many, many times before. Thanks for posting it! J

----------


## quasimodo1

To Janine: Did you get a chance to hear the master? It is well worth it. quasi

----------


## Janine

> To Janine: Did you get a chance to hear the master? It is well worth it. quasi


*quasi,* I saw the 'cummings' site, but did not have time to listen. I can't wait to do that. I actually own a CD set, of all different poets reciting their own verse: Pound, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Walt Whitman, etc. It is so interesting to listen to their voices and how they recite their own work. 
The cummings site is great and I put it into my 'favorites' to explore fully real soon. I loved the photos that I viewed, so far. I will go and listen to it now. Thanks for the great research! :Thumbs Up:  Janine

----------


## Janine

> Nice, Janine. Lots of other poems from him I like, but this one had not been posted and it's great too. 
> btw, that's a fantastic painting you got from O'Keeffe. I once borrowed her biography from school library and was quite impressed.


Hi *white camellia,* whenever I see you, I am reminded that someday soon I must read 'Camille' by Alexander Dumas. I have the book displayed on a table, since it is a nice old copy, but it's begging to be read. 

Thank you for noticing the O'Keeffe painting - It is called 'The Lawrence Tree' - she painted it for D.H. Lawrence, when they were friends in New Mexico. I found it when I was researching Lawrence, for the various threads we have referring to the author. In finding this painting, I found a lot more great paintings of hers, lovely poppy paintings and other flowers, etc., but I think I prefer her flowers. Love the red poppy ones - they would make great avatars! This painting, I have in my signature, is much better seen larger, when you can clearly make out that great blue sky filled with stars. I would like to read more about her; I can imagine her biography would be quite fascinating. I will have to put that on my list, which gets increasingly longer all the time. :Wink:

----------


## quasimodo1

From "love is the every only god"

who spoke this earth so glad and big
even a thing all small and sad
man,may his mighty fortress dig

for love beginning means return
seas who could sing so deep and strong

....


any illimitable star

Cummings, e.e.

----------


## quasimodo1

From "when faces called flowers float out of the ground"


when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

....

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing) e.e. cummings

----------


## Janine

> when faces called flowers float out of the ground
> 
> 
> when faces called flowers float out of the ground
> and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
> but keeping is downward and doubting and never
> -it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
> yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
> yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
> ...


How jubilant this poem is! I love it - a really great spring poem...thanks *quasi*. I liked the one before it, too. What great poems we have all posted on this thread... so far. Can't wait to see what comes next.....(?) Keep posting!  :Thumbs Up:

----------


## quasimodo1

From "this(let's remember)day died again and"


this(let's remember)day died again and
again;whose golden,crimson dooms conceive

an oceaning abyss of orange dream

larger than sky times earth:a flame beyond
soul immemorially forevering am-
and as collapsing that grey mind by wave
doom disappeared,out of perhaps(who knows?)

eternity floated a blossoming
....

----------


## Janine

One of my all time favorties of e e cummings. I named one of my paintings 'sealace'.


From "because i love you)last night"


because i love you)last night

clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and(before my
eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death:drowned only

....

----------


## Janine

*quasi,* is there an echo in here? -- I just posted that one and so did you.....ahha....now I see.... you put at the bottom 'favorite of Janine's'. Yes it is one of my favorites. I gave the painting away years ago, or I would have a nice photo of it to show off. I wrote out the poem decoratively on canvas and had it attached to the back of the painting. Heaven knows what has become of the painting, by now. I learned my lesson, never giveaway/sell a drawing/painting without photographing it first. Such is life....live and learn...

----------


## Janine

in time's a noble mercy of proportion 
with generosities beyond believing 
(though flesh and blood accuse him of coercion 
or mind and soul convict him of deceiving) 
whose ways are neither reasoned nor unreasoned, 
his wisdom cancels conflict and agreement 
—saharas have their centuries;ten thousand 
of which are smaller than a rose's moment

e e cummings

----------


## Janine

From "stand with your lover on the ending earth"


stand with your lover on the ending earth -

and while a(huge which by huger than
huge)whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow

suppose we could not love,dear;imagine

ourselves like living neither nor dead these
(or many thousand hearts which don't and dream
or many million minds which sleep and move)
blind sands,at pitiless the mercy of

time time time time
....

----------


## k_krishy20

where is the poem.....i can't see any

----------


## quasimodo1

From "all in green":


All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn. 

Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before. 

Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift red deer
the red rare deer. 

Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before. 

Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn. 

Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before. 

....


Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before. 

ee cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

First let me credit member 5Parker for posting, and e.e.cummings for the poetry:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world


....

----------


## quasimodo1

From "a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon":


a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon
(where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred)
my mirror gives me,on this afternoon;
i am a shape that can but eat and turd
ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird,
a coward waiting clumsily to cease
whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
a hand's impression in an empty glove,
a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease.
I have never loved you dear as now i love 

....

god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon,
collects the image of one fatal word;
so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon)
resembles something that has not occurred:
i am a birdcage without any bird,
a collar looking for a dog,a kiss
without lips;a prayer lacking any knees
but something beats within my shirt to prove
he is undead who,living,noone is.
I have never loved you dear as now i love. 

Hell(by most humble me which shall increase)
open thy fire!for i have had some bliss
of one small lady upon earth above;
to whom i cry,remembering her face,
i have never loved you dear as now i love 
e.e.cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

From http://www.poetryfoundation.org/arch....html?id=81323

(Part of an interesting critique of e.e.cummings) Other critics focused on the subjects of Cummings' poetry. Though his poetic language was uniquely his own, Cummings' poems were unusual because they unabashedly focused on such traditional and somewhat passe poetic themes as love, childhood, and flowers. What Cummings did with such subjects, according to Stephen E. Whicher in Twelve American Poets, was, "by verbal ingenuity, without the irony with which another modern poet would treat such a topic, create a sophisticated modern facsimile of the 'naive' lyricism of Campion or Blake." This resulted in what Whicher termed "the renewal of the cliche." Penberthy detected in Cummings a "nineteenth-century romantic reverence for natural order over man-made order, for intuition and imagination over routine-grounded perception. His exalted vision of life and love is served well by his linguistic agility. He was an unabashed lyricist, a modern cavalier love poet. But alongside his lyrical celebrations of nature, love, and the imagination are his satirical denouncements of tawdry, defiling, flat-footed, urban and political life—open terrain for invective and verbal inventiveness."

----------


## dramasnot6

Wow, I would agree and disagree. There seems to be something terribly dark about cummings, more of a lament sometimes rather than a celebration, at least for me.

----------


## quasimodo1

From "she being Brand":

she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

....


stand-
;Still)


e.e. cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

From "i have found what you are like"
by e e cummings

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

....

----------


## quasimodo1

(This post serves only to illustrate how political e.e.cummings could be.) 

From "kumrads die because they're told)"


kumrads die because they're told)
kumrads die before they're old
(kumrads aren't afraid to die
kumrads don't
and kumrads won't
believe in life)and death knows whie

....

every kumrad is a bit
of quite unmitigated hate
(travelling in a futile groove
god knows why)
and so do i
(because they are afraid to love

----------


## quasimodo1

From http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/09/1...-prospero.html

"When you see the gravestones from the little necropolis of Cameirus . . . it is the so-often repeated single word -- the anonymous Xaipe-- which attracts you . . . . It is not the names of the rich or the worthy . . . but this single word, 'Be Happy,' serving both as a farewell and admonition, that goes to your heart with the whole impact of the Greek style of mind, the Greek orientation to life and death: so that you are shamed into . . . realizing how little you have fulfilled . . . a thought so simple yet so pregnant, and how even your native vocabulary lacks a word whose brevity and grace could paint upon the darkness of death the fading colors of such gaiety, love and truth as Xaipe does upon these modest gravestones." 
(Exerpt from copyrighted travel writer Freya Stark) explanation of Xiape, the title of a collection of poems by e.e.cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

From "in just-"


in Just- 
spring when the world is mud- 
luscious the little 
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come 
running from marbles and 
piracies and it's 
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

....

----------


## quasimodo1

http://net.lib.byu.edu/~rdh7/wwi/mem...ngs/roomTC.htm The work is called "The Enormous Room"; kind of a memoir of his days in stir. quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

From "nothing false and possible is love... (XXXIV)" by E. E. Cummings

nothing false and possible is love
(who's imagined,therefore is limitless)
love's to giving as to keeping's give;
as yes is to if,love is to yes

must's a schoolroom in the month of may:
life's the deathboard where all now turns when
(love's a universe beyond obey
or command,reality or un-)


....

----------


## quasimodo1

From "Doveglion" by E. E. Cummings"

he isn't looking at anything
he isn't looking for something
he isn't looking
he is seeing

what

not something outside himself
not anything inside himself
but himself

himself how


....

----------


## dramasnot6

> And the coolness of your smile is
> stirringofbirds between my arms;but
> i should rather than anything
> have(almost when hugeness will shut
> quietly)almost,
> your kiss


Oh, that is so lovely. *heart melts*

----------


## quasimodo1

From "gee i like to think of dead" by E. E. Cummings

gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer 
since darker than little round water at one end of the well it's
too cool to be crooked and it's too firm to be hard but it's sharp
and thick and it loves, every old thing falls in rosebugs and 
jackknives and kittens and pennies they all sit there looking at 
each other having the fastest time because they've never met before

dead's more even than how many ways of sitting on your head your 
unnatural hair has in the morning

dead's clever too like POF goes the alarm off and the little striker 
having the best time tickling away everybody's brain so everybody 
just puts out their finger and they stuff the poor thing all full 
of fingers

dead has a smile like the nicest man you've never met who maybe winks 
at you in a streetcar and you pretend you don't but really you do 
see and you are My how glad he winked and hope he'll do it again

or if it talks about you somewhere behind your back it makes your neck 
feel pleasant and stoopid and if dead says may i have this one and 
was never introduced you say Yes because you know you want it to dance
with you and it wants to and it can dance and Whocares


....

----------


## quasimodo1

From "as freedom is a breakfastfood" by E. E. Cummings

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men's hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

....

----------


## Janine

*Quasi,* good work on the new posts. I have been offline and had not seen the editions until today. I like this thread very much. Thanks for starting it. J

----------


## quasimodo1

To Janine: Actually Tarachan started the thread but I was delighted to try and widen it's purview. Thank you for your participation. quasi

----------


## quasimodo1

Some famous quotes from the avant-guard poet: "A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long." 
"America makes prodigious mistakes, America has colossal faults, but one thing cannot be denied: America is always on the move. She may be going to Hell, of course, but at least she isn't standing still." 
"At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks."  
"Be of love a little more careful than of anything." 
"Humanity I love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink." 
"I imagine that yes is the only living thing." 
"I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more." 
"I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes." 
"I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance."  
"I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart." 
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." 
"It takes three to make a child." 
"Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination." 
"Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own." 
"The earth laughs in flowers." 
"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter." 
"The sensual mysticism of entire vertical being." 
"The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful." 
"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."
"Unbeing dead isn't being alive."

----------


## Janine

From "Sonnet"

A wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand. I think I too have known
autumn too long

(and what have you to say,
wind wind wind - did you love somebody
and have you the petal of somewhere in your heart
pinched from dumb summer?
O crazy daddy
of death dance cruelly for us and start

....

Edward Estlin Cummings

----------


## Janine

Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question. 
e. e. cummings

----------


## bloggod

if were to care
and mine to share then dare yer snare
and blare a pair of deuces

to trump the chumps
pokering the slumps that hold aghast
the feastless masts full of winds

assailed until recent curtailed
minds wind, as tops, to spin,
grin, bruise shins, mend, and later drink sin

....

----------


## quasimodo1

The Capitolized Life of e.e.cummings (biography by Marty Eich)...http://titan.iwu.edu/~wchapman/ameri...eb/eecbio.html Short version including the mairrage with Anne Barton (probably one of his least successful unions) quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

If you were born in Cambridge, Massachusetts in the last decade of the 19th century and your father is a professor of Sociology and Political Science at Harvard University and later in your growing up, your father decides to forgo Harvard to become a minister of a south Boston church, your odds of becoming an advante guarde poet genious would still not be very good. But then, nobody gambles in a church that e.e.cummings described in poetry like this... " i am a little church" by e.e. cummings
i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness {1st two stanzas}

----------


## Janine

Quasi, love that last poem. It is great! Thanks for keeping this thread so active. I have thoroughly enjoyed it so far and look forward to many more great e e poems. Wow, many of these I have never heard before.

----------


## quasimodo1

The following is part of a bio. written about the childhood days of e.e.cummings. taken from:

http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/eecummings.html

(CR by subdivision of U.Unitarian Church).....The family, including a younger sister, was very close. Both parents doted on Estlin, assuming that he would someday be famous. Father Edward was conservative in his theological outlook, but his sermons usually dispensed folksy wisdom of a good-natured sort. Although Estlin frequently and accurately complained that his father did not understand his unique personality, both parents were always loving and financially supportive. Estlin proved to be a self-absorbed individual with an independent outlook and considerable courage. 

By the time he was four, Estlin was drawing animals, such as elephants, with hints of perspective. Freehand sketching became a lifetime habit. His father purchased a large farm in New Hampshire called Joy Farm, and father and son would roam the acreage with their bull terrier. The farm was used for a summer retreat throughout Cummings's life. He enjoyed cutting wood, long walks, and bicycle tours. Other than rowing, he had no interest in team sports. His father was tall, rugged, and strong while Estlin was short and somewhat delicate.

----------


## quasimodo1

(who sharpens every dull...) 
who sharpens every dull
here comes the only man
reminding with his bell
to disappear a sun

and out of houses pour
maids mothers widows wives
bringing this visitor
their very oldest lives

one pays him with a smile
another with a tear
some cannot pay at all
he never seems to care

he sharpens is to am
he sharpens say to sing
you'd almost cut your thumb
so right he sharpens wrong

and when their lives are keen
he throws the world a kiss
and slings his wheel upon
his back and off he goes

----------


## quasimodo1

but if a living dance upon dead minds by E. E. Cummings
but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love's also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...

----------


## quasimodo1

From INTRODUCTION of New Poems by E. E. Cummings
The poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople-- it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootofminusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs. Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to mostpeople? Catastrophe unmitigated. Socialrevolution. The cultured aristocrat yanked out of his hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous superpalazzo,and dumped into an incredibly vulgar detentioncamp swarming with every conceivable species of undesirable organism. Mostpeople fancy a guaranteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness. If mostpeople were to be born twice they'd improbably call it dying--

you and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing:which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves. You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now'and now is much to busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included.

Life,for mostpeople,simply isn't. Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has succeeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal. Mostpeople's wives could spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omnipotence immediately and will accept no substitutes.

-luckily for us,a mountain is a mammal. The plusorminus movie to end moving,the strictly scientific parlourgame of real unreality,the tyranny conceived in misconception and dedicated to the proposition that every man is a woman and any woman is a king,hasn't a wheel to stand on. What their synthetic not to mention transparent majesty, mrsandmr collective foetus,would improbably call a ghost is walking. He isn't a undream of anaesthetized impersons, or a cosmic comfortstation,or a transcedentally sterilized lookiesoundiefeelietastiesmellie. He is a healthily complex,a naturally homogenous,citizen of immorality. The now of his each pitying free imperfect gesture,his any birth of breathing,insults perfected inframortally milleniums of slavishness. He is a little more than everything,he is democracy;he is alive:he is ourselves.


. . . .

----------


## Janine

*Quasi,* This 'Introduction' I have in one of my books and I have read it now several times. I love it! Thanks for posting it here. Yes, it is a prose poem indeed; I never thought of it that way before. This thread is great because it is varied with biography, quotes, poems and now this introduction. You keep coming up with new things to add to it. Good thinking on your part - makes the thread interesting. I like to check in daily to see what is new here.

----------


## quasimodo1

To Janine: It is an amazing intro and does give depth to e.e.cummings, the man. Thanks for noticing. Isn't there a member who uses the last line as part of the avatar? quasi

----------


## quasimodo1

From "(in a middle of a room)"

in a middle of a room
stands a suicide
sniffing a Paper rose
smiling to a self

"somewhere it is Spring and sometimes
people are in real:imagine
somewhere real flowers,but
I can't imagine real flowers for if I

could,they would somehow
not Be real"
(so he smiles
smiling)"but I will not

everywhere be real to
you in a moment"
The is blond
with small hands

....


by e.e. cummings {perhaps the poet in a darker mood} quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

From "your little voice..."


your little voice
Over the wires came leaping
and i felt suddenly
dizzy
With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers
wee skipping high-heeled flames
courtesied before my eyes
or twinkling over to my side
Looked up
with impertinently exquisite faces
floating hands were laid upon me
I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing
up
Up
with the pale important
stars and the Humorous

....

ee cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

in spite of everything ...by e.e.cummings
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds ( ...first stanza )

----------


## quasimodo1

http://www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmani...rmous-Room.pdf this link contains the electronic text of e.e.cummings' "The Enormous Room". It is about his misplacement and imprisonment which required friends from both sides of the Atlantic to secure his release and convalescence. e.e.cummings thought of this time later as informative and helpful as grist for his subsequent poetry. The work stands alone and differentiated. quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

Only a butterfly's glide from my home began a mythical domain of semiwilderness; separating cerebral Cambridge and orchidaceous Somerville. Deep in this magical realm of Between stood a palace containing Harvard University's far-famed Charles Eliot Norton. & lowly folk, who were neither professors nor professors' children, had nick-named the district Norton's Woods. Here, as a very little child, I first encountered that mystery who is Nature here my enormous smallness entered Her illimitable being; and here someone actually infinite or impossibly alive--someone who might almost (but not quite) have been myself—-wonderingly wandered the mortally immortal complexities of Her beyond imagining imagination (32)
e.e.cummings
http://www.gvsu.edu/english/cummings/issue3/Parekh3.htm

----------


## quasimodo1

when life is quite through with 
and leaves say alas, 
much is to do 
for the swallow,that closes 
a flight in the blue;

when love's had his tears out,  
perhaps shall pass 
a million years 
(while a bee dozes 
on the poppies, the dears;

when all's done and said,and 
under the grass 
lies her head 
by oaks and roses 
deliberated.) 

From "Tulips and Chimneys", 1923
List all poems from "Tulips and Chimneys" .............e.e.cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

mr. smith 
is reading 
his letter 
by the fire- 
light 



tea-time 



smiles friend smith 





by e.e.cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

Turn down your sound when you go here because the person playing the piano has Peter Nero disease; otherwise the photo and poem are e.e.positive in the extreme....http://www.panhala.net/Archive/This_Amazing_Day.html reactions encouraged, quasimodo1

----------


## quasimodo1

"'kitty'. sixteen,5'1",white,prostitute" 
by E. E. Cummings 


"kitty". sixteen,5'1",white,prostitute. 


ducking always the touch of must and shall, 
whose slippery body is Death's littlest pal, 


skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute. 


the signal perfume of whose unrepute 
focusses in the sweet slow animal 
bottomless eyes importantly banal, 

(first half of this poem, title line imitates headline)

----------


## chckn648

I learned to love e. e. cummings last year during my AP literature class. Before that, I really didn't love poetry.....

----------


## quasimodo1

hate blows a bubble of despair

hate blows a bubble of despair into
hugeness world system universe and bang
-fear buries a tomorrow under woe
and up comes yesterday most green and young

pleasure and pain are merely surfaces
(one itself showing,itself hiding one)
life's only and true value neither is
love makes the little thickness of the coin

excerpt of this poem by e.e.cummings

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

I've recently found this poem. I think it's really interesting and funny but I don't understand some words. They seem to be written as they are pronounced.

from ygUDuh

ydoan
yunnuhstan

ydoan o
yunnuhstand dem
yguduh ged

yunnuhstan dem doidee
yguduh ged riduh
ydoan o nudn

LISN bud LISN

....

e.e.cummings

----------


## quasimodo1

Thanks for the addition to thread, Mrs. Dalloway. You think the poem by e.e. that you posted is perhaps a disturbing memory or immitation of inebriated speech patern? He does a similar thing in the "cumrades" poem.

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

> Thanks for the addition to thread, Mrs. Dalloway. You think the poem by e.e. that you posted is perhaps a disturbing memory or immitation of inebriated speech patern? He does a similar thing in the "cumrades" poem.


Maybe it's an imitation. What do you think? 

I think it may be an imitation to satirize some specific war (maybe Vietnam's war? because it says "yellow bastards"). I'm not really sure of the poem's meaning.

----------


## quasimodo1

Most if not all of e.e.cummings is pre-Vietnam. The more you vocalize the piece, the more it seems to me a specific memory of boozespeak. There's a prejudice here. Not one of his happier works. Does it say yellow... in the part you didn't post? quasimodo1

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

> Most if not all of e.e.cummings is pre-Vietnam. The more you vocalize the piece, the more it seems to me a specific memory of boozespeak. There's a prejudice here. Not one of his happier works. Does it say yellow... in the part you didn't post? quasimodo1


If it's pre-Vietnam, why do you think he says "yellow bastards" and "we're going to civilize them"? What is the meaning?

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

Yes, at the end of the poem it says yellow. But I've posted it... now it appears "..." instead of the end of the poem...

----------


## quasimodo1

To Mrs. Dallaway: Let me do a little checking; got to be in the critical lit. quasimodo1

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

> To Mrs. Dallaway: Let me do a little checking; got to be in the critical lit. quasimodo1


Thanks Quasiomodo  :Wink:

----------


## quasimodo1

http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/....comments.html To Mrs. Dallaway: Older asian connection. These comments are quite interesting. quasimodo1

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

> http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/....comments.html To Mrs. Dallaway: Older asian connection. These comments are quite interesting. quasimodo1


So it's because the WWII bomb to Japan... Thanks!

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

Just one more thing to say about this poem. Cummings seems to be critical with the people who speak in the poem. By the way Cummings wrote it, it seems he is making fun of them (if you compare it with the fact that those people feel that they are better that Japanese people and that they are mocking as well).

well, I thought that when I read the poem.

----------


## quasimodo1

To Mrs. Dalloway: Yes that's exactly my view now that you pointed to the asian reference. He runs the spectrum from intense personal poems, satire and humour. Thanks for adding to the thread. Now to find something by Dylan Thomas that's hopefully fresh. quasimodo1

----------


## tinustijger

Could you post the whole poem? I don't understand a single word! Please interpret for me!

----------


## Logos

This topic, especially the part about *COPYRIGHT* explains why poems posted by people have been edited:

http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=17515

----------


## Mrs. Dalloway

Ok, Logos thanks and sorry! 

Tinustijger, Quasimodo posted a link where you can read the whole poem, the way it is written and also some opinions. I said it may be related to the Second World War. It's a conversation between soldiers, maybe two, speaking about Japanese people. The intention of Cumming was satirise the superiority american soldiers feel towards Japanese people. That's why he wrote the poem with the way the soldiers speak. They are making fun of Japanese and Cummings at the same time is making fun of the soldiers. I think it makes them stupid though they think the stupid and inferior people are the Japanese ones. 

I asked if the poem was about Vietnam but Quasimodo said that the poems of Cummings were written before Vietnam's War. So, that's why I think it can be about Japanese. 

I hope it helps. Read the whole poem in the website and tell us your opinion please  :Smile:

----------


## quasimodo1

by e.e.cummings
up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in it

you will(kiss me)go

out into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it

(kiss me)you will go

on into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in it
...........................................excerpt

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## Mrs. Dalloway

If you look at the poem "yguduh", you can see that the lines written draw a soldier.

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## quasimodo1

[somewhere i have never travelled]


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose




..............first part of this poem by e.e.cummings

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## quasimodo1

she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my



{excerpt from this poem} .........by e.e.cummings

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## littlewing53

...that poem is everything i like abt eec...thanks qm1

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## quasimodo1

............JEHOVAH BURIED, SATAN DEAD................
Jehovah buried,Satan dead,
do fearers worship Much and Quick;
badness not being felt as bad,
itself thinks goodness what is meek;
obey says toc,submit says tic,
Eternity's a Five Year Plan:
if Joy with Pain shall hand in hock
who dares to call himself a man?

go dreamless knaves on Shadows fed,
your Harry's Tom,your Tom is Dick;
while Gadgets murder squack and add,
the cult of Same is all the chic;
by instruments,both span and spic,
are justly measured Spic and Span:
to kiss the mike if Jew turn kike
who dares to call himself a man?

{excerpt from this poem by e.e.cumminngs}

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## quasimodo1

WHEN SERPENTS BARGAIN


when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage -
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age 

when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
- and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close 


{two stanzas of this poem by e.e.cummings}

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## quasimodo1

this(let's remember)day died again and
.................................................. . 

this(let's remember)day died again and
again;whose golden,crimson dooms conceive

an oceaning abyss of orange dream

larger than sky times earth:a flame beyond
soul immemorially forevering am-
and as collapsing that grey mind by wave
doom disappeared,out of perhaps(who knows?)

eternity floated a blossoming


{part of this poem by e.e. cummings}

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## allisonaa

deciphering meaning in much of the poetry of e e cummings is all the more difficult without researching the man and trying to understand some of the connections that he was making. well schooled in traditional literary and poetic forms--he not only "graduated magna cum laude in Literature, especially in Greek and English" from harvard, he taught there. cummings was also a painter. his artwork, paintings, sketches and the like, far outweighing his poetry in sheer volume. as much fun as it is to read what people try to do with his poem "l(a)," setting a copy of the poem next to a copy of marcel duchamp's "nude descending a staircase" should provide an entirely different perspective on the man and his work. a book, e e cummings revisited, written by richard s kennedy is beyond insightful. along with several other authors, particularly poets, we do no small disservice to their work by not investigating as fully as possible just what they thought of their world and their art.

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## SweetKaran

What a coincidence,

I have these questions about the poem I can't really answer... 
could anyone help me??

1.	Explain 'mud-luscious' (lines 2-3).
2.	Explain 'puddle-wonderful' (line 10).
3.	What meanings does 'wee' (lines 5 and 24) have?
4.	Explain the shift from 'lame' (line 4) to 'goat-footed' (line 20).
5.	What does the balloon-man represent for the children?
6.	Explain the title.

Here is PART of the poem in just-

E.E. Cummings

(1894-1963)

in Just-


in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles	far	and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring 
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far	and	wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


....


I know maybe its sounds really lame, but english is not my first language and I'm studying literature now, I really do hope I could make it because I am going to try really hard....  :Biggrin: 

thx!

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## quasimodo1

To SweetKaren: This is one of my favorites by e.e. You will find most of your answers in this collection of critical essays. Hope this was helpfull, but remember it's just a resource. http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poe...ngs/injust.htm ..............quasimodo1

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## SweetKaran

Thx for the link. It is helpful, but it doesn't answer all my questions (or is it?) I just read them once and I guess I should re read them to be able to digest all the information. Why cant people write in normal english lol. I would be really happy if someone could help me explaining it in a way I could understand it.

What I know so far 
_What does the balloon-man represent for the children_? He's rendition of Pan, the god of the goatherds and shepherds.

And I can't even explaining the title of the poem? 
I wonder If i will ever make it for next week exam :Bawling:

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## quasimodo1

Ok, about "in Just" by e.e.cummings...All his poems are titled by the first line, so it need not be interpreted or analyzed. Your mention of Pan (or the Faun) is probably something e.e. intended but the piece is an expression of delight in a moment, in a season...the old "slice of life" type poetry but with cummings' super-creative use of common words and expressions in brand new ways. It also celebrates childhood with it simple and pure feelings about experience. It is not the most complex thing he wrote by a long shot and you don't need to go at it like it is T.S. Eliot. Relax a little, it's not heavy poetry or philosophy. quasi

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## SweetKaran

Hmm... I kind of understand it now. However I have 2 more questions if you dont mind.

Does 'wee' has meaning at all??
And if someone ask you about e.e cummings writing style, what would you answer??

Thanks a bunch!

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## quasimodo1

onomatopoeia, if you have a dictionary, look up this word and it tells you about the "wee" expression (also meaning small and far away). If asked about e.e.cummings writing style, he created a whole new style for poetry which has changed contemporary poetry forever, it is exploratory, unique and kind of a new standard for poetic license. Anything else? quasi

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## SweetKaran

He also doesn't really pay attention to the rules of conventional poems, like stanza and rhymes??

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## SweetKaran

Thx anyway for now, im off to bed. Gonne back to study tomorrow

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## quasimodo1

Taimi Olsen 
LANGUAGE AND SILENCE IN THE ENORMOUS ROOM (1922) 
[Spring 1 (1992): 77-86] 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Although The Enormous Room [1] is typically grouped with in Dos Passos' Three Soldiers and Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms as fiction of World War I, E. E. Cummings created more than a "war" novel. The Enormous Room leads the modernist movement in rejecting genre traditions and adopting an innovative prose style. Cummings questions the assumptions of literary meaning by examining the effectiveness of various modes of communication, and he challenges traditional discourse through his unconventional and often disjointed poetic. For Cummings, the subject matter of The Enormous Room, the silent and "indescribable" essence of things, demands new methods of expression. Cummings reworks literary forms, linguistic signs and standard thematic structures, in order to express this silence. 
As protagonist, narrator, and author, Cummings reconstructs reality through his assertion of linguistic freedom. Essentially, The Enormous Room concerns what Ferdinand de Saussure terms associative relationships in language. Normally, as Jameson explains, syntagmatic, or horizontal, meaning governs the sentence through "a succession of meaning-units or words in time." [2] Associative meaning, however, comes from outside the immediate context of the sentence. Cummings breaks out of sequential sentence structure through the use of typography, rhyme, and the associative meanings of words in order to change the nature of the sentence. 
..........

http://www.gvsu.edu/english/cummings/Olsen1.html

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## quasimodo1

This work of e.e.cummings is a result of his imprisonment in France during the Great War. There is much more to this story but one of the poems known by e.e.cummings and others in this prison/asylum is this one: THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET 

by 
Samuel Woodworth 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------


How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, 

When fond recollections present them to view ! 

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood, 

And every loved spot which my infancy knew; 

The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, 

The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; 

The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it, 

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well; 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-cover'd bucket, which hung in the well. 


That moss-cover'd vessel I hail as a treasure; 

For often, at noon, when return'd from the field, 

I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 

The purest and sweetest that Nature can yield. 

How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing ! 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; 

Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well; 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-cover'd bucket arose from the well. 


How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, 

As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! 

Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, 

Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 

And now, far removed from the loved situation, 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-cover'd bucket, which hangs in the well.

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## SweetKaran

e.e cummings is a master of enjambment, and he uses it freely (too freely i suppose)=D

i don't think he's my favourite :Biggrin:  sorry....

then again, I don't have any favourite poets
I like Those Winter Sunday from Robert Hayden though

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## quasimodo1

104 Irving Street, Cambridge, December 8, 1917.

President Woodrow Wilson, White House, Washington, D. C.

Mr. President:

It seems criminal to ask for a single moment of your time. But I am strongly advised that it would be more criminal to delay any longer calling to your attention a crime against American citizenship in which the French Government has persisted for many weeks—in spite of constant appeals made to the American Minister at Paris; and in spite of subsequent action taken by the State Department at Washington, on the initiative of my friend, Hon. ——.

The victims are two American ambulance drivers, Edward Estlin Cummings of Cambridge, Mass., and W—— S—— B——....

More than two months ago these young men were arrested, subjected to many indignities, dragged across France like criminals, and closely confined in a Concentration Camp at La Ferte Mace; where, according to latest advices they still remain—awaiting the final action of the Minister of the Interior upon the findings of a Commission which passed upon their cases as long ago as October 17.

Against Cummings both private and official advices from Paris state that there is no charge whatever. He has been subjected to this outrageous treatment solely because of his intimate friendship with young B——, whose sole crime is—so far as can be learned—that certain letters to friends in America were misinterpreted by an over-zealous French censor.

It only adds to the indignity and irony of the situation to say that young Cummings is an enthusiastic lover of France and so loyal to the friends he has made among the French soldiers, that even while suffering in health from his unjust confinement, he excuses the ingratitude of the country he has risked his life to serve by calling attention to the atmosphere of intense suspicion and distrust that has naturally resulted from the painful experience which France has had with foreign emissaries.

Be assured, Mr. President, that I have waited long—it seems like ages—and have exhausted all other available help before venturing to trouble you.

1. After many weeks of vain effort to secure effective action by the American Ambassador at Paris, Richard Norton of the Norton-Harjes Ambulance Corps to which the boys belonged, was completely discouraged, and advised me to seek help here.

2. The efforts of the State Department at Washington resulted as follows:

i. A cable from Paris saying that there was no charge against Cummings and intimating that he would speedily be released.

ii. A little later a second cable advising that Edward Estlin Cummings had sailed on the Antilles and was reported lost.

iii. A week later a third cable correcting this cruel error and saying the Embassy was renewing efforts to locate Cummings—apparently still ignorant even of the place of his confinement.

After such painful and baffling experiences, I turn to you—burdened though I know you to be, in this world crisis, with the weightiest task ever laid upon any man.

But I have another reason for asking this favor. I do not speak for my son alone; or for him and his friend alone. My son has a mother—as brave and patriotic as any mother who ever dedicated an only son to a great cause. The mothers of our boys in France have rights as well as the boys themselves. My boy's mother had a right to be protected from the weeks of horrible anxiety and suspense caused by the inexplicable arrest and imprisonment of her son. My boy's mother had a right to be spared the supreme agony caused by a blundering cable from Paris saying that he had been drowned by a submarine. (An error which Mr. Norton subsequently cabled that he had discovered six weeks before.) My boy's mother and all American mothers have a right to be protected against all needless anxiety and sorrow.

Pardon me, Mr. President, but if I were President and your son were suffering such prolonged injustice at the hands of France; and your son's mother had been needlessly kept in Hell as many weeks as my boy's mother has—I would do something to make American citizenship as sacred in the eyes of Frenchmen as Roman citizenship was in the eyes of the ancient world. Then it was enough to ask the question, "Is it lawful to scourge a man that is a Roman, and uncondemned?" Now, in France, it seems lawful to treat like a condemned criminal a man that is an American, uncondemned and admittedly innocent!

Very respectfully, EDWARD CUMMINGS

copy and pasted from http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/8enrm10.txt

{this letter concerns the author and his friends trying to gain exit from the French asylum/prison- the imprisonment being the source of "The Enormous Room". This letter written by e.e.cummings' father}

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## quasimodo1

"You are Irish?"--"No," I said, "American."--"You are Irish by
family?"--"No, Scotch."--"You are sure that there was never an Irishman
in your parents?"--"So far as I know," I said, "there never was an
Irishman there."--"Perhaps a hundred years back?" he insisted.--"Not a
chance," I said decisively. But Monsieur was not to be denied: "Your name
it is Irish?"--"Cummings is a very old Scotch name," I told him fluently,
"it used to be Comyn. A Scotchman named The Red Comyn was killed by
Robert Bruce in a church. He was my ancestor and a very well-known
man."--"But your second name, where have you got that?"--"From an
Englishman, a friend of my father." This statement seemed to produce a
very favorable impression in the case of the rosette, who murmured: "_Un
ami de son pere, un Anglais, bon!_" several times. Monsieur, quite
evidently disappointed, told the moustache in French to write down that I
denied my Irish parentage; which the moustache did.

"What does your father in America?"--"He is a minister of the gospel," I
answered. "Which church?"--"Unitarian." This puzzled him. After a moment
he had an inspiration: "That is the same as a Free Thinker?"--I explained
in French that it wasn't and that _mon pere_ was a holy man. At last
Monsieur told the moustache to write: Protestant; and the moustache
obediently did so.

From this point on our conversation was carried on in French, somewhat to
the chagrin of Monsieur, but to the joy of the rosette and with the
approval of the moustache. In answer to questions, I informed them that I
was a student for five years at Harvard (expressing great surprise that
they had never heard of Harvard), that I had come to New York and studied
painting, that I had enlisted in New York as _conducteur voluntaire_,
embarking for France shortly after, about the middle of April.
{This excerpt from "The Enormous Room" by e.e.cummings is part of his initial interrogation prior to six+ months incarceration}

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## Janine

*Hi Quasimodo,* glad to see you kept this thread active. There is some really good stuff here. You have filled up 14 pages of cummings - good for you! 
These letters are particularly interesting. Not too long ago I picked up Cumming's book called "The Enormous Room", which I believe deals with this time in Cumming's life. I was lucky to find the book free at my library when they were clearing out a certain area to make room for newer books. I have not read it yet. Wondering if anyone has?

One of these days (when I can find the time) I am going to copy all the poetry entered into this thread and burn to a CD or keep it on my hard-drive. 

*Q* - keep up the good work! *J*

Oops, just read a few pages back and see you did mention the book. My mistake.

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## quasimodo1

EN ROUTE

I put the bed-roll down. I stood up.

I was myself.

An uncontrollable joy gutted me after three months of humiliation, of
being bossed and herded and bullied and insulted. I was myself and my own
master.

In this delirium of relief (hardly noticing what I did) I inspected the
pile of straw, decided against it, set up my bed, disposed the roll on
it, and began to examine my cell.

I have mentioned the length and breadth. The cell was ridiculously high;
perhaps ten feet. The end with the door in it was peculiar. The door was
not placed in the middle of this end, but at one side, allowing for a
huge iron can waist-high which stood in the other corner. Over the door
and across the end, a grating extended. A slit of sky was always visible.

Whistling joyously to myself, I took three steps which brought me to the
door-end. The door was massively made, all of iron or steel I should
think. It delighted me. The can excited my curiosity. I looked over the
edge of it. At the bottom reposefully lay a new human turd.

I have a sneaking mania for wood-cuts, particularly when used to
illustrate the indispensable psychological crisis of some outworn
romance. There is in my possession at this minute a masterful depiction
of a tall, bearded, horrified man who, clad in an anonymous rig of goat
skins, with a fantastic umbrella clasped weakly in one huge paw, bends to
examine an indication of humanity in the somewhat cubist wilderness
whereof he had fancied himself the owner....
{excerpt from Part II of "The Enormous Room" by e.e.cummings}

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## quasimodo1

Thanks Janine, a little encouragement is always well recieved. By the way, if you do compile a record of this thread...one entry is repeated. I'll find it and send you the entry#. quasi

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## quasimodo1

A PILGRIM'S PROGRESS I was awakened by a noise of eating. My protectors, knife in hand, were
consuming their meat and bread, occasionally tilting their _bidons_ on
high and absorbing the thin streams which spurted therefrom. I tried a
little chocolate. The _bonhommes_ were already busy with their repast.
The older gendarme watched me chewing away at the chocolate, then
commanded, "Take some bread." This astonished me, I confessed, beyond
anything which had heretofore occurred. I gazed mutely at him, wondering
whether the _gouvernement francais_ had made away with his wits. He had
relaxed amazingly: his cap lay beside him, his tunic was unbuttoned, he
slouched in a completely undisciplined posture--his face seemed to have
been changed for a peasant's, it was almost open in expression and almost
completely at ease. I seized the offered hunk, and chewed vigorously on
it. Bread was bread. The older appeared pleased with my appetite; his
face softened still more, as he remarked: "Bread without wine doesn't
taste good," and proffered his _bidon_. I drank as much as I dared, and
thanked him: "_Ca va mieux._" The _pinard_ went straight to my brain, I
felt my mind cuddled by a pleasant warmth, my thoughts became invested
with a great contentment. The train stopped; and the younger sprang out,
carrying the empty canteens of himself and his comrade. When they and he
returned, I enjoyed another cup. From that moment till we reached our
destination at about eight o'clock the older and I got on extraordinarily
well. When the gentlemen descended at their station he waxed almost
familiar. I was in excellent spirits; rather drunk; extremely tired. Now
that the two guardians and myself were alone in the compartment, the
curiosity which had hitherto been stifled by etiquette and pride of
capture came rapidly to light. Why was I here, anyway? I seemed well
enough to them.--Because my friend had written some letters, I told
them.--But I had done nothing myself?--I explained that we used to be
together all the time, _mon ami et moi_; that was the only reason which I
knew of.--It was very funny to see how this explanation improved matters.
The older in particular was immensely relieved.--I would without doubt,
he said, be set free immediately upon my arrival. The French government
didn't keep people like me in prison.--They fired some questions about
America at me, to which I imaginatively replied. I think I told the
younger that the average height of buildings in America was nine hundred
metres. He stared and shook his head doubtfully, but I convinced him in
the end. Then in my turn I asked questions, the first being: Where was my
friend?--It seems that my friend had left Gre (or whatever it was) the
morning of the day I had entered it.--Did they know where my friend was
going?--They couldn't say. They had been told that he was very
dangerous.--So we talked on and on: How long had I studied French? I
spoke very well. Was it hard to learn English?--

{excerpt from "The Enormous Room", Cummings is being escorted by gendarmes to Marseille to be interrogated; he get's to know his fellow travellers on the train and in a few cafe's where the guards feel intimidated by the locals}

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## Janine

> Thanks Janine, a little encouragement is always well recieved. By the way, if you do compile a record of this thread...one entry is repeated. I'll find it and send you the entry#. quasi


Thanks *quasi*....and I am always happy to encourage you on your good work. Keep up this thread - it is very interesting.

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## tinustijger

Thanks for the excerpts from the enormous room! Very nice to read!

----------


## quasimodo1

"The little Machine-Fixer (_le petit bonhomme avec le bras casse_ as he
styled himself, referring to his little paralysed left arm) was so
perfectly different that I must let you see him next. He was slightly
taller than Garibaldi, about of a size with Monsieur Auguste. He and
Monsieur Auguste together were a fine sight, a sight which made me feel
that I came of a race of giants. I am afraid it was more or less as
giants that B. and I pitied the Machine-Fixer--still this was not really
our fault, since the Machine-Fixer came to us with his troubles much as a
very minute and helpless child comes to a very large and omnipotent one.
And God knows we did not only pity him, we liked him--and if we could in
some often ridiculous manner assist the Machine-Fixer I think we nearly
always did. The assistance to which I refer was wholly spiritual; since
the minute Machine-Fixer's colossal self-pride eliminated any possibility
of material assistance. What we did, about every other night, was to
entertain him (as we entertained our other friends) _chez nous_; that is
to say, he would come up late every evening or every other evening, after
his day's toil--for he worked as co-sweeper with Garibaldi and he was a
tremendous worker; never have I seen a man who took his work so seriously
and made so much of it--to sit, with great care and very respectfully,
upon one or the other of our beds at the upper end of The Enormous Room,
and smoke a black small pipe, talking excitedly and strenuously and
fiercely about _La Misere_ and himself and ourselves, often crying a
little but very bitterly, and from time to time striking matches with a
short angry gesture on the sole of his big, almost square boot. His
little, abrupt, conscientious, relentless, difficult self lived always in
a single dimension--the somewhat beautiful dimension of Sorrow. He was a
Belgian, and one of two Belgians in whom I have ever felt the least or
slightest interest; for the Machine-Fixer might have been a Polak or an
Idol or an Esquimo so far as his nationality affected his soul. By and
large, that was the trouble--the Machine-Fixer had a soul. Put the
bracelets on an ordinary man, tell him he's a bad egg, treat him rough,
shove him into the jug or its equivalent (you see I have regard always
for M. le Surveillant's delicate but no doubt necessary distinction
between La Ferte and Prison), and he will become one of three animals--a 
rabbit, that is to say timid; a mole, that is to say stupid; or a hyena,
that is to say Harree the Hollander. But if, by some fatal, some
incomparably fatal accident, this man has a soul--ah, then we have and
truly have most horribly what is called in La Ferte Mace by those who
have known it: _La Misere_. Monsieur Auguste's valiant attempts at
cheerfulness and the natural buoyancy of his gentle disposition in a
slight degree protected him from _La Misere_. The Machine-Fixer was lost.
By nature he was tremendously sensible, he was the very apotheosis of
_l'ame sensible_ in fact. His sensibilite made him shoulder not only the
inexcusable injustice which he had suffered but the incomparable and
overwhelming total injustice which everyone had suffered and was
suffering en masse day and night in The Enormous Room." ........... {from Part III of "The Enormous Room" by e.e.cummings}

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## quasimodo1

HERE IS LITTLE EFFIE'S HEAD

here is little Effie's head 
whose brains are made of gingerbread 
when the judgment day comes 
God will find six crumbs 

stooping by the coffinlid 
waiting for something to rise 
as the other somethings did-- 
you imagine His surprise 

bellowing through the general noise 
Where is Effie who was dead? 
--to God in a tiny voice, 
i am may the first crumb said 

whereupon its fellow five 
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive 
and number two took up the song, 
might i'm called and did no wrong 

cried the third crumb, i am should 
and this is my little sister could 
with our big brother who is would 
don't punish us for we were good; ................

(excerpt from this poem by e.e.cummings}

----------

