You Are Tired (I Think) by e.e.cummings

You are tired,

(I think)

Of the always puzzle of living and doing;

And so am I.

Come with me, then,

And we’ll leave it far and far away—

(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,

(I think)

And broke the toys you were fondest of,

And are a little tired now;

Tired of things that break, and—

Just tired.

So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—

Open to me!

For I will show you places Nobody knows,

And, if you like,

The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!

I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,

That floats forever and a day;

I’ll sing you the hyacinth song

Of the probable stars;

I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,

Until I find the Only Flower,

Which shall keep (I think) your little heart

While the moon comes out of the sea.

~ e.e.cummings

now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have

now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have

hands, and all the hands have people; and

more each particular person is(my love)

alive than every world can understand

and now you are and i am now and we're

a mystery which will never happen again,

a miracle which has never happened before–

and shining this our now must come to then

our then shall be some darkness during which

fingers are without hands; and i have no

you: and all trees are(any more than each

leafless)its silent in forevering snow

—but never fear(my own, my beautiful

my blossoming)for also then's until

luminous tendril of celestial wish

luminous tendril of celestial wish

(whying diminutive bright deathlessness

to these my not themselves believing eyes

adventuring,enormous nowhere from)

querying affirmation; virginal

immediacy of precision: more

and perfectly more most etereal

silence through twilight's mystery made flesh–

dreamslender exquisite white firstful flame

—new moon! as(by the miracle of your

sweet innocence refuted)clumsy some

dull cowardice called a world vanishes,

teach disappearing also me the keen

illimitable secret of begin 

~ e. e. cummings

silence

silence

is

a

looking

bird:the

turn

ing;edge,of

life

(inquiry before snow

e.e. cummings

supposing

supposing i dreamed this)

only imagine,when day has thrilled

you are a house around which

i am a wind-

your walls will not reckon how

strangely my life is curved

since the best he can do

is to peer through windows,unobserved

-listen,for(out of all

things)dream is noone's fool;

if this wind who i am prowls

carefully around this house of you

love being such,or such,

the normal corners of your heart

will never guess how much

my wonderful jealousy is dark

if light should flower:

or laughing sparkle from

the shut house(around and around

which a poor wind will roam

~ e.e. cummings

you said is

you said Is

there anything which

is dead or alive more beautiful

than my body,to have in your fingers

(trembling ever so little)?

Looking into

your eyes Nothing,i said,except the

air of spring smelling of never and forever.

….and through the lattice which moved as

if a hand is touched by a

hand(which

moved as though

fingers touch a girl’s

breast,

lightly)

Do you believe in always,the wind

said to the rain

I am too busy with

my flowers to believe,the rain answered

e.e. cummings

from his Complete Poems (1904-1962)

with thanks to life love yoga

one's not half two

one's not half two.  It's two are halves of one:

which halves reintegrating,shall occur

no death and any quantity;but than

all numerable mosts the actual more

minds ignorant of stern miraculous

this everytruth-beware of heartless them

(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;

or,sold the reason,they  undream a dream)

one is the song which friends and angels sing:

all murdering lies by mortals told make two.

Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;

we(by a gift called dying born)must grow

deep in dark least ourselves remembering

love only rides his year.

                                    All lose, whole find

~ e.e.cummings

photo by Shreve Stockton

.

the ending earth-

.

stand with your lover on the ending earth-
and while a (huge by which huger than

huge) whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow, suppose we could not love, dear; imagine

ourselves like living neither nor dead these

(or many thousands hearts which don't and dream

or many million minds which sleep and move)

blind sand, at pitiless the mercy of

time time time time time

how fortunate are you and I, whose home

is timelessness: we who have wandered down

from fragrant mountains of eternal now

to frolic in such mysteries as birth

and death a day (or maybe even less)

~ e.e.cummings

i am a little church

i am a little church(no great cathedral)

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities

-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;

my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving

(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic

world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature

-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to

merciful Him Whose only now is forever:

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

~ e.e.cummings

.from E. E. Commings:Selected Poems

 

somewhere i have never traveled

.

.

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

your slightest look easily will enclose 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 colour 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 you eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands

.

e. e. cummings

.

my love is building a building

.

.

my love is building a building

around you,a frail slippery

house,a strong fragile house

(beginning at the singular beginning

.

of your smile)a skilful uncouth

prison,a precise clumsy

prison(building thatandthis into Thus,

Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

.

my love is building a magic,a discrete

tower of magic and(as i guess)

.

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

.

crumble the mouth-flower fleet

He'll not my tower, 

                                                     laborious, casual

.

where the surrounded smile

                                                 hangs

.

                                                                            breathless

.

e. e. cummings
art by Sandy Eastoak,  http://www.sandyeastoak.com/
.

what time is it?

what time is it?it is by every star

a different time,and each most falsely true;

or so subhuman superminds declare

- nor all their times encompass me and you:

when are we never,but forever now

(hosts of eternity;not guests of seem)

believe me,dear,clocks have enough to do

without confusing timelessness and time.

Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell -

measure imagine,mystery,a kiss

- not through mankind would rather know than feel;

mistrusting utterly that timelessness

whose absence would make you whole life and my

(and infinite our)merely to undie

~e.e.  cummings

silently if

silently if,out of not knowable

night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess

(only which is this world)more my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if(spiralling as luminous

they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself,i find

selves unimaginably mine;beyond

sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit's born:

yours is the darkness of my soul's return

- you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars

~ e.e. cummings

though love be a day

 ...

.

(though love be a day

and life be nothing,

it shall not stop kissing)

~ e.e.cummings

...

)when what hugs stopping earth than silent is

)when what hugs stopping earth than silent is

more silent than more than much more is or
total sun oceaning than any this
tear jumping from each most least eye of star
.
and without was if minus and shall be
immeasurable happenless unnow
shuts more than open could that every tree
or than all life more death begins to grow
.
end's ending then these dolls of joy and grief
these recent memories of future dream
these perhaps who have lost their shadows if
which did not do the losing spectres mime
.
until out of merely not nothing comes
only one snowflake(and we speak our names

~ e.e.cummings

seeker of truth

follow no path

all paths lead where

truth is here

~ e.e. cummings

all which isn't singing is mere talking

.
all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
.
gush to it as diety or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else
.
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother's son-
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone
.
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
.
~ e.e.cummings


.

since feeling is first

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other:then
laugh,leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis



~ e.e.cummings




.

lady, i will touch you with my mind

...
lady, i will touch you with my mind.
touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene

(lady i will
touch you with my mind.) Touch
you,that is all,

lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite care

the poem which i do not write. 

...

~ e.e.cummings



.

2 little whos

2 little whos

(he and she)

under are this

wonderful tree

smiling stand

(all realms of where

and when beyond)

now and here

(far from a grown

-up i&you-

ful world of known)

who and who

(2 little ams

and over them this

aflame with dreams

incredible is)


~ e.e.cummings

painting by e.e.cummings