Friday Poetry Blogging

[coraa]

I haven't done this in forever, and I suspect that I already posted this poem anyway, but, hell, I want to post it again. It's one of my favorite love poems ever. Maybe my favorite love poem ever.

somewhere 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 will easily 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 color 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. cummings

Comments

[triath.livejournal.com]

I love e. e. cummings. Such beautiful love poetry.

Thank you!

[larryhammer]

*happy sigh*

---L.

[shweta-narayan.livejournal.com]

It's a beautiful poem.


I have serious problems with it (though nothing that's not understandable given the time it was written in), but will not harsh your squee with them :)

[porfinn.livejournal.com]

He will always snag at me, like hands, work-worn rough, catching on tender places.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

That's a beautiful poem--love the unclosing, enclosing, and opening. And the small hands of the rain.