Patricia’s Poetry Pick No. 3
“The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned,
in order to know himself,”
↑self-portrait (did you know he was a painter too?)
[anyone lived in a pretty how town]
BY e. e. cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
↓ so cool to hear e.e. cummings read his own poem. Listen to the time he takes with it. Special shout out to his beautiful Mid-Atlantic accent. Can we bring that back? ↓
A thought…
It takes all my self-will to resist sharing an e.e. cummings poem every chance I get. In my envisioned utopia, e.e. cummings poems are shared often and people greet each other with a twinkle in their eye and a line from one of his poems. I’m half kidding, but I am a FAN. To me, his poems are the ultimate reminder that life, although interminably deep, is in fact, not so serious. He is the Dr. Seuss for my grownup brain. His work is playful, eccentric, satirical, elemental, experimental, musical, and brazenly erotic *gasp*. He’s both avant-garde and completely approachable. You don’t see that every day! (Unless you read an e.e. cummings poem a day.)
I love e.e. cummings not only because he is the greatest love poet of all time (fight me), but also because his work serves as a reminder that the only rules that exist are the ones we make up and impose on ourselves, and that these rules are waiting to be broken.
As someone guilty of pausing in the middle of a recipe to google and measue out the exact gram weight of a “pinch of salt”, I can tell you, this reminder is much needed and appreciated.
Side note, a “pinch of salt” is actually MUCH bigger than I imagined. Chefs use three fingers, not just two!
I digress…
There are many reasons I picked this poem out of my stack of favourites, but most of all, I appreciate its ability to give me pause. These are fast moving times and I often feel lost in a sea of strangers made more anonymous behind masks. I’m often confronted with my minisculity—my itty-bitty weensie teensiness in the vast scope of the universe. This poem reminds me of the fact that although I truly am no one, I’m also anyone’s noone and that is meaningful, indeed.
One dive deeper…
Here’s George Lucas’ film inspired by the poem. He made made it while in film school at USC.
