Sunday, April 01, 2007
In Celebration of Poets (and Other Fools)
I've been looking forward to April, which is National Poetry Month in more than name only.I'd like to be a poet, but my language rolls out without the music that characterizes poetry. I read lots of poetry, so I'll simply share some of my favorites during this month.
Since we are also celebrating April Fool's Day, today's choice celebrates (and defines) being-a-fool, too.
From e.e.cummings' 100 Poems:
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis.
# posted by Lulu Maude @ 10:22 AM 
Comments:
<< Home
'skuze me Lulu Maude. That's a really good poem. But I like
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
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 baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
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 baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
Uh-oh. The comment box didn't let the comment show the goat-foot of the poem. It lined everything up.
Thanks, Woody. I love that one, too. Also
O sweet spontaneous
earth
How often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
O sweet spontaneous
earth
How often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
If I didn't know better, I would think that you and Woody have a thing going on. Hmmmm. Don't let Pursey know.
Post a Comment
<< Home
