Friday, November 30, 2012

e.e. cummings

Well, first of all, hello Tatiana and Georgette. If you are still out there in cyberland, that is. Tatiana, I hope you got my post through my husband's facebook account awhile back. I have run away from facebook and will most likely never return.

Second, I'm terribly tired of myself. As usual. But I miss reading poetry. And posting a poem a day will help me read poetry again. I just bought six or so books at a used bookstore.

Here's the first by e.e. cummings. This one always moves me. It's ridiculously tender and sexy at the same time:

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

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


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