Friday, October 14, 2011

e. e. cummings at 117

e.e.cummings would've been 117 today.

and the man's poetry has extended a long bony finger into my own life, from those elementary school readings of "in Just--" all the way to my borrowing a few lines from "i sing of Olaf glad and big" as the epigraph for the Tusk book.

and somewhere in the middle (though much closer to the Tusk book end than the elementary school one) we read a cummings poem at a wedding in Carl Schurz Park:

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one

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