(no subject)

[nny]

Okay, more sensible poetry now. This is beautiful. I've never much liked e.e. cummings. Possibly because I hate feeling stupid. I think I'm developing an appreciation.




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

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(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

-- e. e. cummings.

If you see this, and you want to, post a poem.

Comments

[cyanei.livejournal.com]

I ... hrm. I ruined Cummings for myself last year at school. I voluntarily analysed one of his poems for class and spent two weeks wanting to tear out my hair. In the end I picked it apart satisfactorily and all was well, but I can never look at "Picasso..." again without wanting to strangle someone.

This one is beautiful, though. Hrm.