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Poet & Poetess Biographies Master Poets & Poetesses have bestowed upon us their poetic hues, graceful talents and prolific writings. You will find their biographies and sample writings here.

E. E. Cummings (Stylish American Poet 1894 - 1962)
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E. E. Cummings (Stylish American Poet 1894 - 1962)
Published by MsJacquiiC
04-23-2008
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E. E. Cummings (Stylish American Poet 1894 - 1962)

E. E. Cummings (1894-1962)


Edward Estlin Cummings, popularly known as E. E. Cummings, was an American poet, painter, essayist, and playwright. His body of work encompasses more than 900 poems, several plays and essays, numerous drawings, sketches, and paintings, as well as two novels. He actually claimed to have composed a poem a day for fourteen years.

Cummings' publishers and others have sometimes echoed the unconventional orthography in his poetry by writing his name in lower case and without periods. Cummings himself used both the lowercase and capitalized versions, but according to his widow did not have his name legally changed to "e. e. cummings". One Cummings scholar believes that on the occasions Cummings signed his name in all-lowercase, intending it as a gesture of humility and not as an indication that it was the preferred orthography for others to use for his name.

Despite Cummings' consanguinity with avant-garde styles, much of his work is traditional. Many of his poems are sonnets, and he occasionally made use of the blues form and acrostics. Cummings' poetry often deals with themes of love and nature, as well as the relationship of the individual to the masses and to the world. His poems are also often rife with satire. In addition, a number of Cummings' poems feature, in part or in whole, intentional misspellings, and several incorporate phonetic spellings intended to represent particular dialects. Cummings also made use of inventive formations of compound words, as in "in Just-", which features words such as "mud-luscious", "puddle-wonderful", and "eddieandbill."

Cummings' talent extended to children's books, novels, and painting. Referring to his painting, he called himself “an author of pictures, a draughtsman of words.”






 my father moved through dooms of love
By E. E. Cummings
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead he called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all



 in just-
By E. E. Cummings
in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles       far       and wee

and eddieandbill 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



 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



E.E. Cummings, “anyone lived in a pretty how town” from Complete Poems 1904-1962, edited by George J. Firmage. Copyright 1926, 1954, 1991 by the Trustees for the E.E. Cummings Trust. Copyright © 1985 by George James Firmage. Reprinted with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.



  #1  
Old 04-23-2008, 08:38 AM
MsJacquiiC's Avatar
JPiC Creator: Poetica Magnifique
 
Quote:
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
tribute.

such stainless wordsmithing
one would think mary calculated,
springing forth messiah and did
rain down from up on her knees,
reaching for the poetic moon
while the sun shined up in her
womb. but no - simply cummings
going with dust tracks at his
newborned swept notebook. would
that we could sweep
such a trail of immaculate concepts.


happy national poetry month!
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  #2  
Old 04-23-2008, 10:11 AM
butchiesmom's Avatar
Moderator
 
I remember seeing his poems quoted in various articles and works and seeing his name in lower case. It's amazing to read he claimed to have written a poem a day. I'm lucky to write a poem or anything a month, lol.

Cummings' talent extended to children's books, novels, and painting. Referring to his painting, he called himself “an author of pictures, a draughtsman of words.”

I've often referred to writing as painting with words, so I can relate. Thanks for posting this Jacquii! I'm enjoying reading facts about these writers!
hugs,
Gail
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