terça-feira, 6 de janeiro de 2015

e. e. cummings poems shared by David K Martins



1

mOOn Over tOwns mOOn
whisper
less creature huge grO
pingness
whO perfectly whO
flOat
newly alOne is
dreamest
oNLY THE MooN o
VER ToWNS
SLoWLY SPoUTING SPIR
IT

6

exit a kind of unkindness exit

little
mr Big
notbusy
Busi
ness notman

(!ye
galleon
wilts
b:
    e;n,d

i
  ng
like like,like bad,like
candy:& you

are dead
you captain)

Memo 1
wife in impossibly
hell Memo
1 son
in improbably yale


10

little man
(in a hurry
full of an
important worry)
halt stop forget relax
wait
(little child
who have tried
who have failed
who have cried)
lie bravely down
sleep
big rain
big snow
big sun
big moon
(enter
us)


35

how dark and single,where he ends,the earth
(whose texture feels of pride and loneliness
alive like some dream giving more than all
life's busy little dyings may possess)

how sincere large distinct and natural
he comes to his disappearance;as a mind
full without fear might faithfully lie down
to so much sleep they only understand

enormously which fail — look:with what ease
that bright how plural tide measures her guest
(as critics will upon a poet feast)

meanwhile this ghost goes under,his drowned girth
are mountains;and beyond all hurt of praise
the unimaginable night not known

36

into a truly
curving form
enters my
soul

feels all small
facts dissolved
by the lewd guess
of fabulous immensity

the sky screamed
the sun died)
the ship lifts
on seas of iron

breathing height eating
steepness the
ship climbs
murmuring silver mountains

which disappear(and
only
was night

and through only this night a
mightily form moves
whose passenger and whose
pilot my spirit is


71

morsel miraculous and meaningless

secret on luminous whose selves and lives
imperishably feast all timeless souls

(the not whose spiral hunger may appease
what merely riches of our pretty world
sweetly who flourishes,swiftly which fails

but out of serene perfectly Nothing hurled
into young Now entirely arrives
gesture past fragrance fragrant;a than pure

more signalling of singular most flame
and surely poets only understands)
honour this loneliness of even him

who fears and eyes lifts lifting hopes and hands
-nourish my failure with thy freedom:star

isful beckoningly fabulous crumb
 From No Thanks, 1935

and a short clip

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK4OcYPvPvI

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