e. e. cummings
e. e. cummings
Edward Estlin Cummings, known as E. E. Cummings, with the abbreviated form of his name often written by others in lowercase letters as e e cummings, was an American poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. His body of work encompasses approximately 2,900 poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays and several essays, as well as numerous drawings and paintings. He is remembered as an eminent voice of 20th century English literature...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth14 October 1894
CityCambridge, MA
CountryUnited States of America
What concerns me fundamentaly is a meteoric burlesk melodrama, born of the immemorial adage love will find a way.
A bouquet of clumsy words: you know that place between sleep and awake where you're still dreaming but it's slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn't always say 'just wondering' when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars. Listen, there's a hell of a good universe next door, let's go.
Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.
I spill my bright incalculable soul
All in green went my love riding
all nothing's only our hugest home; the most who die, the more we live
worms are the words but joy's the voice
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.
what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer's lie; bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry?
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
Buffalo Bill's defunct
Spring is like a perhaps hand
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead
hopes dance best on bald men's hair