somehwere 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 colour 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 e.e.cummingsWhen I was briefly engaged I had suggested that we include this poem in our invitations. My fiance, after reading it, said that he didn't get it. I should have recognized then and there that something significant was missing in how we read the world. I am grateful for his finally telling me the truth and freeing me to find something more.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
It is hard for me to choose only one poem by this poet. There are so many which sing so beautifully. This is one of his more popular/accessible so I suppose this is a logical choice.