Review: “E.E. Cummings: A Selection of Poems”

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goodreads.com

I recently finished reading this book of poems, a selection of poems by E.E. Cummings, this collection featured fantastic poems that display Cummings love for the written word, skills in typography and his particular use of punctuation and enjambment.

Originally published in 1923 this selection contains poems that might be considered risky even in the ’20’s about sex and sexual urges. There are also poems that display Cummings ongoing “un-doing” of words, punctuation and the typographical form of a poem on the page. A consistent pattern that I noticed towards the end of this collection is his use of “un”.

In the poem, “pity the busy monster, manunkind” (pg.125), “un” is used to undo and possibly invert not only the meaning of words such as ‘mankind’, ‘wish’, and ‘self’ but to put these words and their meanings on their head (or in on themselves). Cummings weaves in words such as “disease”, “electrons”, “hypermagical”, and “ultraomnipotence”, his puts some words together while emulating (I think) a sing-song voice that reminds me of advertisements for cure-alls.

The poem, I think, talks about the ‘silliness’ of mankind and death which is always present. I wonder if this poem is specifically about death as an unavoidable reality regardless of how far mankind has “progressed” or if it is making fun of people that believe in the progress of mankind to overcome death? Is the “hypermagical ultraomnipotence” a reference to god? I am not sure.

I would love to read some criticism of this poem and others published around the same time to help me better understand where Cummings is going with his poetry. I honestly felt that although Cummings was tearing poetry apart, in terms of form and style and creating something all his own, his poems operate on the same mastery levels like the greatest poets who lived hundreds of years before Cummings time.

Cummings poems may look like simplistic easy-reads but there is really so much more packed into them than meets the eye. I love reading E.E. Cummings and have a couple other books of his poems that I love just as much as this one and highly recommend to readers,

“Etcetera: The Unpublished Poems” by E.E. Cummings

17370

“No Thanks” by E.E. Cummings

294354

photo sources: goodreads.com

A plus note about “E.E. Cummings: A Selection of Poems” is the introduction by Horace Gregory which adds some flavor and plenty of words from Cummings himself on his poetry and poetry in general. This introduction really adds to the experience of reading this book of poetry in its entirety. My edition is a 1965 reprint edition and can be found on Amazon.

Alina’s Rating: 5/5

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Notebook Excerpts #4 (May/June)

Here are some excerpts from my May and June Notebooks. I use regular composition notebooks to write in, take notes, and attempt poetry and fiction. I have filled one entire Notebook every month for the last few years. I find it to be a good habit that keeps my writing and my mind fresh.


+ signifies breaks in sections of writing/poems

 

(MAY 2017)

How I bleed.

Let it fall down, marble, the cold sky. And the clouds are fat in the neat of the sky.

What are the words that break each other?

Up and out, down and inside it all.

How death becomes reality eventually for all of us.

+

How glass sounds, smashing glass,

smashing it all. The sting in the eardrums.

The sting of pain that bellows and coldly crumbles.

+

and situated coldly across the old sky wandering

her eyes reflected a pain that was not found.

In it all, was not found among the wreckage of her personality.

+

Why do we care about the theory of a god? the existence of one, at all?

What does that mean? All the power that corrupts the hearts of man.

+

Writing between us. Writing it all, climb into nowhere and pulverize, pulverize the summer sun. My heart beats, beats clean, crisp and cold all my eyes return into the holy error of death. Calm and sweet my body blossoms into nothing. I am nothing.

 

(JUNE 2017)

My mind  burns, could you find me, any colder? The eyes of my heart return to a death that I can no longer find. Why my body bends and breaks, closes completely.

+

Words written on these pages-what does everyone know? My blood burns like no one else, my mind poisonous to everyone. Burning them into a burning light but I am so cold.

+

My skin turns blue until there is nothing left of me until there is…nothing.

+

Sweet flowers that destroy you, into the forgotten night. My eyes drift silently into nothing.

+

What do the words mean? Do they mean anything? I’m not quite sure anymore.


 

If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope you will return in the future!

-Alina

Free Hand #34

Moss gathers and the trees grow.

Under the pale blue sky. In the summer time,

the heart flows upwards and over into

the mouth, into the body. How my mind keeps

spinning, talking, creeping until words

are strained, weakened and colorless.

There under the trees, laying flat on my back

I wait for the worms to eat me up.

My words to become soft echoes in the forest.


 

If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope that you will return in the future!

-Alina