E.E. Cummings
Edward Estlin Cummings was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on October 14, 1894. He began writing poems as early as 1904 and studied Latin and Greek at the Cambridge Latin High School.
He received his BA in 1915 and his MA in 1916, both from Harvard University. His studies there introduced him to the poetry of avant-garde writers, such as Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound.
In 1917, Cummings published an early selection of poems in the anthology Eight Harvard Poets. The same year, Cummings left the United States for France as a volunteer ambulance driver in World War I. Five months after his assignment, however, he and a friend were interned in a prison camp by the French authorities on suspicion of espionage (an experience recounted in his novel, The Enormous Room) for his outspoken anti-war convictions.
After the war, he settled into a life divided between houses in rural Connecticut and Greenwich Village, with frequent visits to Paris. He also traveled throughout Europe, meeting poets and artists, including Pablo Picasso, whose work he particularly admired.
In 1920, The Dial published seven poems by Cummings, including "Buffalo Bill ’s.” Serving as Cummings’ debut to a wider American audience, these “experiments” foreshadowed the synthetic cubist strategy Cummings would explore in the next few years.
In his work, Cummings experimented radically with form, punctuation, spelling, and syntax, abandoning traditional techniques and structures to create a new, highly idiosyncratic means of poetic expression. Later in his career, he was often criticized for settling into his signature style and not pressing his work toward further evolution. Nevertheless, he attained great popularity, especially among young readers, for the simplicity of his language, his playful mode and his attention to subjects such as war and sex.
The poet and critic Randall Jarrell once noted that Cummings is “one of the most individual poets who ever lived—and, though it sometimes seems so, it is not just his vices and exaggerations, the defects of his qualities, that make a writer popular. But, primarily, Mr. Cummings’s poems are loved because they are full of sentimentally, of sex, of more or less improper jokes, of elementary lyric insistence.”
During his lifetime, Cummings received a number of honors, including an Academy of American Poets Fellowship, two Guggenheim Fellowships, the Charles Eliot Norton Professorship at Harvard, the Bollingen Prize in Poetry in 1958, and a Ford Foundation grant.
At the time of his death, September 3, 1962, he was the second most widely read poet in the United States, after Robert Frost. He is buried in Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston, Massachusetts.
source: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/e-...
“(existing's tricky:but to live's a gift)”
E.E. Cummings
“(and from my thighs which shrug and panta murdering rain leapingly reaches theupward singular deepest flower which shecarries in a gesture of her hips)”
E.E. Cummings
“love is a deeper seasonthan reason;my sweet one”
E.E. Cummings
“the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses”
E.E. Cummings
“nOthIng cansurPassthe mySteRyofstilLness”
E.E. Cummings
“i charge laughing. Into the hair-thin tintsof yellow dawn,into the women-coloured twilight”
E.E. Cummings
“something genuine like a mark in a toilet, graced with guts and gutted with grace”
E.E. Cummings
“dive for dreamsor a slogan may topple you(trees are their rootsand wind is wind)trust your heartif the seas catch fire(and live by lovethough the stars walk backward)honour the pastbut welcome the future(and dance your deathaway at this wedding)never mind a worldwith its villains or heroes(for god likes girlsand tomorrow and the earth)”
E.E. Cummings
“I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew -- the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. -- Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all.”
E.E. Cummings
“Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.”
E.E. Cummings
“all by all and deep by deepand more by more they dream their sleepnoone and anyone earth by aprilwish by spirit and if by yes”
E.E. Cummings
“things which in my mind blossom will stumble beneath a clumsiest disguise appear capable of fragility and indecision”
E.E. Cummings
“his lips drink water but his heart drinks wine”
E.E. Cummings
“en algún lugar al que nunca he viajado, gozosamente más alláde cualquier experiencia, tus ojos tienen su silencio:en tu gesto más frágil hay cosas que me abarcan,o que no puedo tocar porque están demasiado cercatu mirada más leve me abrirá fácilmenteaunque me haya cerrado como dedos,siempre me abres pétalo tras pétalo como la Primavera abre(tocando hábilmente, misteriosamente) su primera rosao si tu deseo fuera cerrarme, yo ymi vida nos cerraremos muy bellamente, súbitamente,como cuando el corazón de esta flor imaginala nieve cayendo cuidadosa por doquier;nada que hayamos de percibir en este mundo igualala fuerza de tu intensa fragilidad: cuya texturame domina con el color de sus campos,trayendo muerte y eternidad con cada respiro(yo no sé qué hay en ti que puede cerrary abrir; apenas algo en mí comprendeque la voz de tus ojos es más profunda que todas las rosas)nadie, ni siquiera la lluvia, tiene manos tan pequeñas”
E.E. Cummings
“If"If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie, Life would be delight,-- But things couldn't go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I'd be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,-- Yet they'd all despair, For if here was there We wouldn't be we.”
E.E. Cummings
“All in green went my love of riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn.”
E.E. Cummings
“-tomorrow is our permanent addressand there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do,we’ll move away still further:into now”
E.E. Cummings
“Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”
E.E. Cummings
“our can'ts were born to happenour mosts have died in more”
E.E. Cummings
“Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.”
E.E. Cummings
“mr youse needn't be so spryconcernin questions artyeach has his tastes but as for ii likes a certain partygimme the he-man's solid blissfor youse ideas i'll match yousea pretty girl who naked isis worth a million statues”
E.E. Cummings
“Only by you my heart always moves.”
E.E. Cummings
“...remember one thing only: that it's you-nobody else-who determines your destiny and decides your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.”
E.E. Cummings
“in heavenly realms of hellas dwelttwo very different sons of zeus:one, handsome strong and born to dare--a fighter to his eyelashes--the other,cunning ugly lame;but as you'll shortly comprehenda marvellous artificernow Ugly was the husband of(as happens every now and thenupon a merely human plane)someone completely beautiful;and Beautiful,who(truth to sing)could never quite tell right from wrong,took brother Fearless by the eyesand did the deed of joy with himthen Cunning forged a web so subtleair is comparatively crude;an indestructible occultsupersnare of resistless metal:and(stealing toward the blissful pair)skilfully wafted over them-selves this implacable unthingnext,our illustrious scientistpetitions the celestial hostto scrutinize his handiwork:they(summoned by that savage yellfrom shining realms of regions dark)laugh long at Beautiful and Brave--wildly who rage,vainly who strive;and being finally releasedflee one another like the pestthus did immortal jealousyquell divine generosity,thus reason vanquished instinct andmatter became the slave of mind;thus virtue triumphed over viceand beauty bowed to uglinessand logic thwarted life:and thus--but look around you,friends and foesmy tragic tale concludes herewith:soldier,beware of mrs smith”
E.E. Cummings
“notice the convulsed orange inch of moonperching on this silver minute of evening”
E.E. Cummings
“may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living”
E.E. Cummings
“i thank You God for most this amazingday:for the leaping greenly spirits of treesand a blue true dream of sky; and for everythingwhich is natural which is infinite which is yes(i who have died am alive again today,and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birthday of life and of love and wings: and of the gaygreat happening illimitably earth)how should tasting touching hearing seeingbreathing any--lifted from the noof all nothing--human merely beingdoubt unimaginable You?(now the ears of my ears awake andnow the eyes of my eyes are opened)”
E.E. Cummings
“in a middle of a roomstands a suicidesniffing a Paper rosesmiling to a self"somewhere it is Spring and sometimespeople are in real:imaginesomewhere real flowers,butI can't imagine real flowers for if Icould,they would somehownot Be real"(so he smilessmiling)"but I will noteverywhere be real toyou in a moment"The is blondwith small hands"& everything is easierthan I had guessed everything wouldbe;even remembering the way wholooked at whom first,anyhow dancing”
E.E. Cummings
“Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.”
E.E. Cummings
“if everything happens that can't be done(and anything's righterthan bookscould plan)the stupidest teacher will almost guess(with a runskiparound we go yes)there's nothing as something as oneone hasn't a why or because or although(and buds know betterthan booksdon't grow)one's anything old being everything new(with a whatwhicharound we come who)one's everyanything soso world is a leaf so tree is a bough(and birds sing sweeterthan bookstell how)so here is away and so your is a my(with a downuparound again fly)forever was never till nownow i love you and you love me(and books are shutterthan bookscan be)and deep in the high that does nothing but fall(with a shouteacharound we go all)there's somebody calling who's wewe're anything brighter than even the sun(we're everything greaterthan booksmight mean)we're everanything more than believe(with a spinleapalive we're alive)we're wonderful one times one”
E.E. Cummings
“i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowersI will take the sun in my mouthand leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyesto dash against darknessin the sleeping curves of my body”
E.E. Cummings
“i like my body when it is with yourbody. It is so quite new a thing.Muscles better and nerves more.i like your body. i like what it does,i like its hows. i like to feel the spineof your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth ness and which i willagain and again and againkiss, i like kissing this and that of you,i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzzof your electric fur, and what-is-it comesover parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,and possibly i like the thrillof under me you so quite new.”
E.E. Cummings
“for whenever men are right they are not young”
E.E. Cummings
“She may be going to Hell, of course, but at least she isn't standing still”
E.E. Cummings
“I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air.”
E.E. Cummings
“wholly to be a foolwhile Spring is in the worldmy blood approves, and kisses are a better fatethan wisdomlady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry-the best gesture of my brain is less thanyour eyelid's flutter which sayswe are for each other: thenlaugh, leaning back in my armsfor life's not a paragraphAnd death i think is no parenthesis”
E.E. Cummings
“Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt...”
E.E. Cummings
“somewhere i have never traveled, 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”
E.E. Cummings
“Humanity i love youbecause you would rather black the boots ofsuccess than enquire whose soul dangles from hiswatch-chain which would be embarrassing for bothparties and because you unflinchingly applaud allsongs containing the words country home andmother when sung at the old howardHumanity i love you becausewhen you're hard up you pawn yourintelligence to buy a drink and whenyou're flush pride keeps you from the pawn shops andbecause you are continually committingnuisances but moreespecially in your own houseHumanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret oflife in your pants and forgettingit's there and sitting downon itand because you are forever making poems in the lapof death Humanityi hate you”
E.E. Cummings
“And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apartI carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]”
E.E. Cummings
“may I be I is the only prayer--not may I be great or good or beautiful or wise or strong.”
E.E. Cummings
“the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy”
E.E. Cummings
“hate blows a bubble of despair intohugeness world system universe and bang-fear buries a tomorrow under woeand up comes yesterday most green and young”
E.E. Cummings
“For surely as each November has its April, mysteries only are significant; and one mystery-of-mysteries creates them all: nothing false and possible is love(who's imagined,therefore limitless)love's to giving as to keeping's give;as yes is to if,love is to yes”
E.E. Cummings
“here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)”
E.E. Cummings
“i shall imagine lifeis not worth dying,if(and when)roses complaintheir beauties are in vainbut though mankind persuadesitself that every weed'sa rose,roses(you feelcertain)will only smile”
E.E. Cummings
“Laughing is just another way of showing people your wise”
E.E. Cummings
“love being such, or such,the normal corners of your heartwill never guess how muchmy wonderful jealousy is dark”
E.E. Cummings
“twice I have lived forever in a smile”
E.E. Cummings
“The Symbol of all Art is the Prism. The goal is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism into the secret glories it contains.”
E.E. Cummings