I mean, I’m pretty, right? *wink* I have uber sexy body, RIGHT?!? *glaring* Surely, one time or another, one of them must have been inspired by my goddessness to at least write me something stupid like:
Harlot, oh, Harlot... you, I and I’s pecker
Guaranty, my lovey, you is wet your knickers.
*Long suffering sigh* I know what you’re thinking. “Poetry? Oh, yuck. That’s for cuckoos!” But what can I say? I have always luuuved poetry. (And I never did claim I’m completely sane. :/) Besides, if you think poems can only be nothing but rhymes and rhymes of verbal masturbation that you’d shout for the poet to shut the fuck up—you are wrong-o, evil reader. Uh-hmm... Well, that, or you’ve yet to read E.E. Cummings.
Oh, Edward Estlin... I have always loved your poetry... EVERY. SINGLE. BIT. OF. IT. *sigh* E.E.’s poetry is easy on the brain and melts in your mouth. Like yum yum, mmm mmmm... And did I mention sexy, sexy, sexy? *g* Some of them are romantic, some are verra verra erotic, but all of them are LUV-LEE... They are like word puzzles with syntax scrambled, words divided/misspelled and punctuation marks in odd places to create a kind of “visual” poetry. Like paintings, really. He is the perfect example of the one who broke the rules—rules which must be MASTERED before they can be acceptably broken. Oh my, a man after my own heart. *drawing of cute hearts here* :P With every bit of inspired doggerel and each blithe vowel, E.E. has taught me the miracle of words: they are both everything and nothing.
Now, three poems...
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 you quite so new
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.
somewhere i have never travelled,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 unclose 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 color 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 your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
My favorites are “i carry your heart with me (i carry it in” just because... and of course “somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond.” I find this particular poem intense, magnetic and terrifying, because I KNOW that it could happen to me. The thought of being so completely taken by someone, UTTERLY encompassed, that my self is no longer voluntary... It’s scary. But you know what’s worse? I wish it to happen. *cringe* (Toldja, cuckoo.)
If you like E.E. Cummings’ 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. He is FUCKING AWESOME.