❮Reading❯ ➶ E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 Author E.E. Cummings – Transportjobsite.co.uk

E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 pdf E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, ebook E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, epub E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, doc E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, e-pub E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 6ff7908f715 At The Time Of His Death In , E E Cummings Was, Next To Robert Frost, The Most Widely Read Poet In America Combining Thoreau S Controlled Belligerence With The Brash Abandon Of An Uninhibited Bohemian, Cummings, Together With Pound, Eliot, And William Carlos Williams, Helped Bring About The Twentieth Century Revolution In Literary Expression He Is Recognized On The One Hand As The Author Of Some Of The Most Beautiful Lyric Poems Written In The English Language, And On The Other As One Of The Most Inventive American Poets Of His Time In The Worlds Of Richard Kostelanetz, The Major American Poet Of The Middle Twentieth Century


10 thoughts on “E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962

  1. says:

    A friend of mine called me today to ask me to send him an e e cummings poem I used to have on my wall at work when I worked with him oh, a decade ago Neither of us thought it would be necessary for him to tell me which one, and so I sent him this one somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany 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 nearyour slightest look will easily unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens touching skillfully, mysteriously her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses nobody, not even the rain, has such small handsIt seemed the only reasonable assumption to make But he told me that wasn t the right one, so I sent him this one next to of course god america ilove you land of the pilgrims and so forth ohsay can you see by the dawn s early mycountry tis of centuries come and goand are no what of it we should worryin every language even deafanddumbthy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorryby jingo by gee by gosh by gumwhy talk of beauty what could be beaut iful than these heroic happy deadwho rushed like lions to the roaring slaughterthey did not stop to think they died insteadthen shall the voice of liberty be mute He spoke And drank rapidly a glass of waterGod, I love that poem.I knew this wasn t it either, as he had already told me the poem he was after compared how easy it is to plant a bomb to how hard it is to write a poem I can t for the life of me remember the poem not even assuming he got the poet wrong Anyway all this has meant that the first of these two poems has been bouncing around in my head all day So, there is only one thing for it, I guess.There is a scene in Woody Allen Hannah and Her Sisters where Michael Caine gets an American actress to read this poem and there after has sex with her In my fictional world the necessary consequence of giving a women a beautiful poem is that she has to have sex with you virtually immediately afterwards In much the same way that killing a dragon in a fairy tale leads in the same direction the difference being only that sex is merely assumed in fairy tales In fact, the giving of poetry to women and its relation to sex is perhaps as good a definition of the difference between life and fiction as I can think of.I ve always loved the small hands and their opening and closing but I don t think I ve ever really thought about this poem as one ought to think about poems, about what this poem might mean And I ve read it many, many times before But then, it got Michael Caine into your woman s knickers, so it must be about love, right It was only today when I was trying to remember what the poem was called that I really started to think about the meaning of the poem I googled noboby, not even the rain, has such small hands and that did the trick but when the first line came up I was taken aback somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany experience You know, we re talking death here That is the only place that is gladly beyond any experience And what are the things you cannot touch because they are too near Yeah, things so deep inside your self they are beyond close This is a strikingly interesting poem, much interesting than I ve ever really thought before It reminds me of that essay by Montaigne that says that to truly live we must face down death every day Otherwise we spend our lives running in fear of something so big it exhausts us Otherwise we can t really understand life.Like the Persephone myth in life there is death and in our life we need to return to the underworld for there to be any hope of another Spring.Is it any wonder that Spring is the only word in the poem with a capital letter, not even I gets that honour.It is this death in life hybrid that is being spoken of, I think, where cummings refers to you in the poem And it is this hybrid which has such an awe inspiring power over us In fact, it is a knowledge of the fragility of life the tenuous balance of every breath in us that places us between being alive and dead that gives life its power A power as great as that of countries and worlds and all other great and temporary things that gain their beauty and their vivacity from the fact of their likewise momentary existence, from the fact that their being is illuminated by the equal certainty of their one day not being.Perhaps Allen is right to have your woman drop her knickers, even if I suspect she does this from thinking the you in the poem is supposed to refer to her Even if she had realised the you wasn t a person, but rather a personification of life and death sex still is probably as good a response as any other.Poetry, too, has small hands you never can tell just when they are going to unclose themselves for you The gifts poems hold are as close to being beyond our experience as we are capable of, I suspect.


  2. says:

    Dear Edward, In the rain darkness, the sunset being sheathed, i sit and think of you You may find this peculiar, that I think of you, without knowing you, but it s true And, though i am a little church no great cathedral , I d have made my love known to you, if ever we d have had the serendipity of occupying the same space In fact, my dear, I m quite certain I d have stalked you I can not help myself, you poser of clumsy You, with your fancy words pressed into peasant s pants, to disguise your genius I see you I have always seen your truth.My dear, my love is building a building around you my love is building a magic, a discrete tower of magic, where I can still conjure your image, bring you back, after I have summoned your little voice with your own delicious words Sir, I can not begin to count the poetry and prose your verse has provoked from me, how much credit I lay humbly at your feet Thou shall not worship false idols, or so they say, but, oh, sweet Edward, you do give me the shakes Over time and tide and death, you have maintained my ardor Love, i slowly gather of thy languorous mouth the thrilling flower.Yours


  3. says:

    anyone lived in a pretty how town with up so floating many bells down spring summer autumn winterhe sang his didn t he danced his did.Women and men both little and small cared for anyone not at allthey sowed their isn t they reaped their samesun moon stars rainchildren guessed but only a fewand down they forgot as up they grewautumn winter spring summer that noone loved him by when by now and tree by leafshe laughed his joy she cried his griefbird by snow and stir by stillanyone s any was all to hersomeones married their everyoneslaughed their cryings and did their dance sleep wake up and then theysaid their nevers they slept their dreamstars rain sun moon and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to rememberwith up so floating many bells down one day anyone died i guess and noone stooped to kiss his face busy folk buried them side by sidelittle by little and was by wasall by all and deep by deepand by they dream their sleepnoone and anyone earth by aprilwish by spirit and if by yes.Women and men both dong and ding summer autumn winter springreaped their sowing and went their camesun moon stars rain


  4. says:

    I love e.e.cummings poetry There is nothing like it I can hardly review something so amazing, to be honest there s time for laughing and there s time for crying for hoping for despair for peace for longing a time for growing and a time for dying a night for silence and a day for singingbut than all as your than eyestell me there is a time for timelessness e.e.c.And there s a time to shut up and just appreciate some amazing poetry.


  5. says:

    oh that i could give this book every star, star in the starry sky every gasp whisper and wonder, every dream of a dream unheard of, sentences, the roar of my bleating beating heart every blinking winking of my parabolic eyelashes, my moon wrists skyscraper calves bridged feet and the city of wonder that he has at one time never time discovered my little mouth in open joy knows not the path to the sly slippery of his genius He that questions language knows its secrets.


  6. says:

    a s ae tu ei am io my ou be u


  7. says:

    somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond by E E Cummingssomewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyondany 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 nearyour slightest look easily will unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens touching skilfully,mysteriously her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses nobody,not even the rain,has such small handsI was so ravished by this poem when i first came across it sometime in highschool, i think that i kept a copy of it tacked to my bedroom wall for a good 10 years thereafter Then, some years went by, the poem from my wall now tucked away at the bottom of a hope chest buried with all my other dreams and romances until one day one lucky day i happened across a snippet of an ee cummings poem in an introduction to a book i was reading this may or may not have been a novel by the great Tad Williams i will have to get back to you on that one though, because i could be wrong anyway, the quote was, listen there s a hell of a good universe next door let s go so i ran to the bookstore, found this book, leafed through it and went home to contemplate why spending this amount of money for a book was ridiculous it didn t take long for me to change my mind i like to splurge and i like to be ravished.the end.


  8. says:

    This tome will be on my currently reading list for quite a while Yesterday my husband was watching an old James Caan movie, The Gambler when he paused it and said, Step away from the computer Now I m going to give you three words from a poem which he d heard recited in the movie and I want you to tell me the poet The words were Buffalo Bill s defunct I immediately spit out, e e cummings Then I went and grabbed this book and read him this poem which I d memorized in high school English He shook his head and said, Is there a poet you don t know LOL I own about 200 books of poetry and have read them all.This compilation is one of my favorites and I peruse it often It ll take me a lifetime to digest all of Mr Cummings wonderful poetry.


  9. says:

    of all the collections of e e s worksthis is the finestcomplete, of course, why wouldn t it be as is the sea marvelousfrom god shands which sent her forthto sleep upon the worldand the earth withersthe moon crumblesone by onestars flutter into dustbut the seadoes not changeand she goes forth out of hands andshe returns into handsand is with sleep.love, the breakingof your soul uponmy lips


  10. says:

    i used to read this book on the floor of the bookstore in Singing River Mall in Gautier Mississippi cuz i had no money to buy it then one Christmas my friend Andreabought it for me i have not gotten tired of a single poem reading his poetry is like reading it for the first time every time fiercly original startlingly beautiful.i cant say enough about this man and his talent.


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