Poems List

in just

in just


in Justspring
when the world is mudluscious
the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee


and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's spring


when the world is puddle-wonderful


the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


it's spring
and the goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
610

i sing of Olaf glad and big

i sing of Olaf glad and big

i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or


his wellbelovéd colonel (trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but-though an host of overjoyed
noncoms (first knocking on the head
him) do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments-
Olaf (being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds, without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"


straightaway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)


but-though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skillfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat-
Olaf (upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"


our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died


Christ (of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too


preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you
679

if everything happens that can't be done

if everything happens that can't be done

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one


one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we come who)
one's everyanything so


so world is a leaf so tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now


now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we


we're anything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one
642

i have found what you are like

i have found what you are like

i have found what you are like
the rain

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields


easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike


the air in utterable coolness


deeds of gren thrilling light

with thinned
newfragile yellows

lurch and press
--in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,

your kiss
539

Fame Speaks

Fame Speaks

Stand forth,John Keats! On earth thou knew'st me not;
Steadfast through all the storms of passion,thou,
True to thy muse,and virgin to thy vow;
Resigned,if name with ashes were forgot,
So thou one arrow in the gold had'st shot!
I never placed my laurel on thy brow,
But on thy name I come to lay it now,
When thy bones wither in the earthly plot.
Fame is my name. I dwell among the clouds,
Being immortal,and the wreath I bring
Itself is Immortality. The sweets
Of earth I know not,more the pains,but wing
In mine own ether,with the crownéd crowds
Born of the centuries.-Stand forth,John Keats!
563

Ballad of the Scholar's Lament

Ballad of the Scholar's Lament

When I have struggled through three hundred years
of Roman history, and hastened o'er
Some French play-(though I have my private fears
Of flunking sorely when I take the floor
In class),-when I have steeped my soul in gore
And Greek, and figured over half a ream
With Algebra, which I do (not) adore,
How shall I manage to compose a theme?


It's well enough to talk of poor and peers,
And munch the golden apples' shiny core,
And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;While
the great Alec, knocking down a score,
Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, "More!"But
harshly I awaken from my dream,
To find a new,-er,-privilege,-in store:
How shall I manage to compose a theme?


After I've swallowed prophecies of seers,
And trailed Aeneas from the Trojan shore,
Learned how Achilles, after many jeers,
On piggy Agamemnon got to sore,
And heard how Hercules, Esq., tore
Around, and swept and dusted with a stream,
There's one last duty,-let's not call it bore,How
shall I manage to compose a theme?

Envoi


Of what avail is all my mighty lore?
I beat my breast, I tear my hair, I scream:
"Behold, I have a Herculean chore.
How shall I manage to compose a theme?"
595

all in green

all in green

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.


Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.


Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift red deer
the red rare deer.


Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before.


Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.


Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.


Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.


Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrow sang before.


Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down
into the silver dawn.


Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.


Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.


Four tall stags at the green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.


All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.


Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.
602

(a... (a leaf falls on loneliness)

(a... (a leaf falls on loneliness)

1(a


le
af
fa
ll


s)
one
l


iness
913

Comments (0)

Log in to post a comment.

NoComments

Identification and basic context

Full name: Edward Estlin Cummings. He often signed his name in lowercase, e.g., 'e. e. cummings,' as a deliberate stylistic choice to emphasize his rejection of traditional conventions and his focus on the individual. He was an American writer, poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. He wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Cummings was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His father, Edward Cummings, was a professor of English at Harvard University and later a minister. His mother, Rebecca Haseltine Clarke, was a writer. Cummings attended Cambridge School of C. J. of America and then Harvard University, where he studied English and Classics and began to experiment with poetry. He received his Master's degree from Harvard in 1915. His early influences included classical literature and the burgeoning modernist movements in art and literature.

Literary trajectory

Cummings's literary career began during his time at Harvard. His first collection of poems, *Tulips and Chimneys*, was published in 1923. Throughout his life, he continued to write prolifically, producing poetry, novels, plays, and essays. He was a highly original voice whose work evolved stylistically but remained committed to his core themes of love, nature, and individualism. He was also active as a painter, exhibiting his artwork throughout his career.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Cummings's major works include *Tulips and Chimneys* (1923), *NoThanks* (1935), and *95 Poems* (1958). His poetry is instantly recognizable for its unique style: unconventional use of capitalization, punctuation, and spacing; invented words; and often a playful, lyrical tone. Common themes include romantic love, the beauty of nature, the individual's struggle against conformity, and a critique of mass society and political institutions. He often employed the sonnet form but radically adapted it to his experimental style. His language is rich with imagery, often celebrating the simple and the profound. He brought a fresh, modern sensibility to lyric poetry.

Cultural and historical context

Cummings lived through significant historical periods, including World War I and World War II, and the social and political changes of the 20th century. His experiences during WWI, particularly his imprisonment in France for alleged espionage, deeply impacted him and are reflected in his novel *The Enormous Room* (1922). He was often critical of what he perceived as the conformity and soullessness of modern industrial society. His work can be seen as a reaction against the prevailing social and political currents of his time, emphasizing individual freedom and authentic experience.

Personal life

Cummings had a complex personal life, marked by a passionate engagement with art and life. He was married twice. His time in Paris in the early 1920s was formative, exposing him to avant-garde artistic circles. He maintained a strong connection to his family and friends, and his personal relationships often found expression in his poetry.

Recognition and reception

While Cummings was not always embraced by mainstream literary critics during his lifetime, he achieved significant popularity among readers for his accessible themes and innovative style. He received several honors and awards for his poetry, including the Shelley Memorial Award and the National Medal for Literature. His work continues to be widely read and studied.

Influences and legacy

Cummings was influenced by traditional poets like William Blake and E. A. Robinson, as well as by modernist painters and poets. His legacy lies in his distinctive contribution to American poetry, demonstrating the power of linguistic and visual experimentation to convey profound human emotions and ideas. He inspired many poets to explore unconventional forms and to celebrate individuality.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Cummings's poetry is often interpreted as a celebration of romantic love, the natural world, and the inherent value of the individual consciousness. His experiments with form are seen not as mere gimmickry but as integral to his message of liberation from restrictive norms. His critique of conformity and his embrace of sincerity are recurring points of critical analysis.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Cummings was a passionate visual artist in addition to being a poet and writer. He often integrated his paintings and drawings with his poems. He was also known for his strong opinions and his independent spirit, often refusing to compromise his artistic vision.

Death and memory

Edward Estlin Cummings died in North Conway, New Hampshire. His enduring legacy is secured by his unique and beloved body of work, which continues to captivate readers with its originality and emotional depth.