but the other. e. e. cummings


but the other
day i was passing a certain
gate rain
fell as it will

in spring
ropes
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness

as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold i looked
up

and
thought to myself death
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch

the pink hollyhock existence whose
pansy eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchangingly the always

old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken

softly at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding

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11 thoughts on “but the other. e. e. cummings

  1. let’s start again ,at a slower pace. Cummings is one of my favourite poets because his verses are open in every sense of this word. Enjoy..

  2. Here in Glasgow it’s raining in the sun. Love this choice of yours, the ways syntax is subtly deconstructed to create an almost filmic flow of images. Your style, really…xs

  3. I call them ‘atomic verses’. It’s condensed and powerful.
    Good old Ludwig:

    * The world consists of independent atomic facts — existing states of affairs — out of which larger facts are built.
    * Language consists of atomic, and then larger-scale propositions that correspond to these facts by sharing the same “logical form”.
    * Thought, expressed in language, “pictures” these facts.
    * We can analyse our thoughts and sentences to express (“express” as in show, not say) their true logical form.
    * Those we cannot so analyse cannot be meaningfully discussed.
    * Philosophy consists of no more than this form of analysis: “Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muß man schweigen” (“Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent”).

  4. I put Cummings’s poem in the google translator and obtained this:
    “ma l’altro il giorno i stava passando un sicuro pioggia del cancello è caduto come esso in primavera corde di scivolare d’argento da pieno di sole tuonare in freschezza come se i fiori del dio siano tirando sulle flange di oro i osservato su e pensato a me morte e volontà voi con le barrette elaborate possibilmente toccano l’esistenza dentellare del hollyhock di cui il pansy eyes lo sguardo dalla mattina lavorare alla notte nella via unchangingly sempre signora anziana che si siede in lei la finestra delicata gradisce una reminiscenza partecipato morbidamente a di chi sorriso del cancello sempre scelto fiori di ricordo”

  5. I found this on wikipedia : “As well as being influenced by notable sources modernists including Stein and Pound, Cummings’ early work drew upon the imagist experiments of Amy Lowell. Later his visits to Paris exposed him to Dada and surrealism, which in turn permeated his work. He also liked to incorporate nature and death imagery into much of his poetry.
    While some of his poetry is free verse (with no concern for rhyme and scansion), many of his poems have a recognizable sonnet structure of 14 lines, with an intricate rhyme scheme. A number of his poems feature a typographically exuberant style, with words, parts of words, or punctuation symbols scattered across the page, often making little sense until read aloud—at which point the meaning and emotion become clear. As a painter, Cummings understood the importance of presentation, and used typography to “paint a picture” with some of his poems.
    Even in his earliest work the seeds of Cummings’ unconventional style seem well established. At age six Cummings wrote to his father:
    FATHER DEAR. BE, YOUR FATHER-GOOD AND GOOD,
    HE IS GOOD NOW, IT IS NOT GOOD TO SEE IT RAIN,
    FATHER DEAR IS, IT, DEAR, NO FATHER DEAR,
    LOVE, YOU DEAR,
    ESTLIN.”

  6. That’s my improvised Italian version Mario:

    ma l’altro
    giorno passando un certo
    cancello pioggia
    cadeva come fara’
    in primavera

    funi
    d’argento splendente
    dall’assolato tuono
    nella freschezza

    come se fiori d’un dio
    spuntassero tra campane
    d’oro ho guardato
    su

    e
    pensato tra me e me
    morte
    e tu toccherai mai
    con le tue elaborate dita

    il rosa malvone dell’esistenza i cui
    occhi viole del pensiero
    guardano dal mattino
    alla sera nella strada
    mutevolmente la sempre

    vecchia signora che siede
    nella quieta finestra come
    un rircordo
    condiviso

    teneramente al cui cancello sorridono
    sempre I fiori eletti
    della memoria

  7. agli appassionati di cummings segnalo il libro appena uscito per Le Lettere Poesie d’amore curato da mio fratello salvatore di giacomo con prefazione della spaziani e della de rachewiltz
    sergio di giacomo

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