Andrew Lansdown

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e.e. cummings

 

Six poems by e.e. cummings:

1. “in Just”

2. “i carry your heart with me”

3. “if i have made,my lady,intricate”

4. “it may not always be so”

5. “All in green went my love riding”

6. “Tumbling-hair” [untitled]

 

 

in Just-

 

in Just-

spring       when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

 

whistles       far       and wee

 

and eddyandbill 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

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

 

i carry your heart with me

 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                           i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

 

if i have made,my lady,intricate

 

if i have made,my lady,intricate

imperfect various things chiefly which wrong

your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail)

songs less firm than your body’s whitest song

upon my mind—if i have failed to snare

the glance too shy—if through my singing slips

the very skillful strangeness of your smile

the keen primeval silence of your hair

 

—let the world say “his most wise music stole

nothing from death”—

                                    you only will create

(who are so perfectly alive)my shame:

lady through whose profound and fragile lips

the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

 

into the ragged meadow of my soul.

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

 

it may not always be so

 

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.

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

 

All in green went my love riding

 

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 sweet 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 a 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.

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

 

“Tumbling-hair” [untitled]

 

Tumbling-hair

                    picker of buttercups

                                                 violets

 

dandelions

And the big bullying daisies

                                       through the field wonderful

with eyes a little sorry

Another comes

also picking flowers

 

          e.e. cummings

 

 

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