Additional Poems By E E Cummings

Additional Poems By E. E. Cummings Essay, Research Paper

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls

are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds

(also, with the church’s protestant blessings

daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)

they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,

are invariably interested in so many things–

at the present writing one still finds

delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?

perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy

scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D

…. the Cambridge ladies do not care, above

Cambridge if sometimes in its box of

sky lavender and cornerless, the

moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

from Tulips and Chimneys (1923)

"kitty". sixteen, 5′ 11", white, prostitute.

ducking always the touch of must and shall,

whose slippery body is Death’s littlest pal,

skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute.

the signal perfume of whose unrepute

focusses in the sweet slow animal

bottomless eyes importantly banal,

Kitty. a whore. Sixteen

you

corking brute

amused from time to time by clever drolls

fearsomely who do keep their sunday flower.

The babybreasted broad "kitty" twice eight

–beer nothing, the lady’ll have a whiskey-sour–

whose least amazing smile is the most great

common divisor of unequal souls.

from Tulips and Chimneys (1923)

here is little Effie’s head

whose brains are made of gingerbread

when the judgment day comes

God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid

waiting for something to rise

as the other somethings did–

you imagine His surprise

bellowing through the general noise

Where is Effie who was dead?

–to God in a tiny voice,

i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five

crumbs chuckled as if they were alive

and number two took up the song,

might i’m called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb, i am should

and this is my little sister could

with our big brother who is would

don’t punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame

whispered unto God, my name

is must and with the others i’ve

been Effie who isn’t alive

just imagine it I say

God amid a monstrous din

watch your step and follow me

stooping by Effie’s little, in

(want a match or can you see?)

which the six subjunctive crumbs

twitch like mutilated thumbs:

picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown

puzzles, but I know the way–

(nervously Whose eyes approve

the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of

the innumerable capering damned)

–staring wildly up and down

the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread

lift the sheet back in this way.

here is little Effie’s head

whose brains are made of gingerbread

from & (1925)

raise the shade

will youse dearie?

rain

wouldn’t that

get yer goat but

we don’t care do

we dearie we should

worry about the rain

huh

dearie?

yknow

i’m

sorry for awl the

poor girls that

gets up god

knows when every

day of their

lives

aint you,

oo-oo.

dearie

not so

hard dear

you’re killing me

from & (1925)

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

from & (1925)

who knows if the moon’s

a baloon,coming out of a keen city

in the sky–filled with pretty people?

(and if you and i should

get into it,if they

should take me and take you into their baloon,

why then

we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:

go sailing

away and away sailing into a keen

city which nobody’s ever visited,where

always

it’s

Spring)and

everyone’s

in love and flowers pick themselves

from & (1925)

Picasso

you give us things

which

bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind

you make us shrill

presents always

shut in the sumptuous screech of

simplicity

(out of the

black unbunged

Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes

between squeals of

Nothing grabbed with circular shrieking tightness

solid screams whispers.)

Lumberman of the Distinct

your brain’s

axe only chops hugest inherent

Trees of Ego,from

whose living and biggest

bodies lopped

of every

prettiness

you hew form truly

fromn XLI Poems (1925)