Most of us probably can recall being spoon fed Buffalo Bill’s Defunct as an introduction to poetry (poetry? yuk!) in grade school. The writer of that poem went by the literary sobriquet of e.e. cummings. His name was actually Edward Estlin Cummings and I’ve always loved his poetry…every single bit of it.

It is easy on the brain and melts in your mouth. With every bit of inspired doggerel and each blithe vowel-chime e.e. cummings has taught me the miracle of words: that they are both everything and nothing. How could that not appeal to a Catholic school girl who believed in Three-Gods-in-One?

And now, three poems….

the boys i mean are not refined

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

***

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me quite so new

***

it may not always be so: and i say

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be-
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying ,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

***

If you really like e.e. cumming’s stuff–and how could you not?–I suggest buying a book or two because you need to actually see his poetry to truly appreciate it. His writing style was unconventionally brilliant in that he often broke rules and misspelled words or used atypical typography to create a kind of “visual” poetry which complemented the rhyme and/or theme of the verse. A very good example of this would be a leaf falls on loneliness.

He is just so fucking awesome!

xo, Angela

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 10th, 2007 at 7:55 pm and is filed under PSOetry, Rhetorically Yours. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.