Tuesday, December 07, 2004

a disappearing poet of always

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your (in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains; and to
a disappearing poet of always, snow
and to morning; and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight (and a first dream called ocean) and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks, nor dares to feel (but up
with joy; and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

- e e cummings


Huckleberry Finn said...

"*since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things...", eh?

*cummings, again.

Souvik said...

Yes, the next line says:
"will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool.."

- Do not agree. But its still my favourite cummings love poem!

In this one though, in addition to the imagery, I like the open ended ending; there is no closing brace for the last line. Could be a typo, but I like to think of it as possibilities, each one magical & effervescent irrespetive of what you make of it.