It’s a beautiful night.
The children are in bed asleep, the finest of husbands is doing laundry, and I am soaking the first chilblains of my life in an old sitz bath in the bathroom. Because around here, that’s how we roll.
One purpose of this blog is to review the many lovely books we read. This particular one inspired Clive the Staples to sit at the living room window, staring out reflectively in between bouts of jotting down freeform poetry for approximately 20 minutes. If you knew Clive the Staples, you’d understand that this is extraordinary indeed.
Enormous Smallness by Matthew Burgess is beautifully written, tenderly illustrated, and sprinkled E. E.’s language and vivacity.
In our book, it gets five stars for whetting poetic appetites.
In the spirit of things, here is my favorite E. E. Cummings poem, one I memorized in college whilst engaged to my Beloved:
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
Poetry is good for the soul.
Amen.
