(no subject)


if there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be (deep like a rose
tall like a rose)

standing near my

(swaying over her
with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
which whisper
This is my beloved my

(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

& the whole garden will bow)

- e. e. cummings

it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!

To everyone in the Northeast, and especially in New York; with thanks to Rachel, who reminded me ;-)

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 every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

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)


my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell
and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of chrome and ex
-ecute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am becoming
something a little different, in fact
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet bellowings.


i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain

but though mankind persuades
itself that every weed's
a rose,roses(you feel
certain)will only smile
dog blueprint


i look up and see
moons and planets

and i see
galaxies, and quasars and pulsars
i might even see strings
or so the scientists tell me
and i believe them

but i only see one star:

it is very bright and it is you
glowly eyes

(no subject)

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

(no subject)

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

your eyes half-
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

       of you

- e.e. cummings

(no subject)

i'm making a short film for school and i am basing it somewhat on Collapse ), and when i read it, it feels like he's talking about war/the people involved. so that's a little bit of an undertone in my script(that doesn't exist yet.)
i found a few other interpretations that are pretty different, but i still like mine and am sticking with my original idea, i was just wondering if anyone else gets that when they read it, or am i just imagining things?

a couple of other peoples' that i found Collapse )

and Collapse )

edit: the more i think about it, the more confused and unsure i become about the whole project. blech.

(no subject)

would anyone be interested in a book/art/music exchange of some sort? but a larger one? I think it would be so lovely to create a book that gets sent around of our favorite poems, and when you recieve it, you would add one and send it off.

(no subject)

the enormous room is pure magic.

i was reading it after my most stressful midterm, just at the part where ee is describing all of the people he met, and I could not stop laughing. I was laughing almost silently, but absolutely cracking up.

I want to marry this book.
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