Silent poetry readingToday is apparently the Bloger Silent Poetry Reading. I heard about this originally from Cara at january one, and I am all over that angle like ugly on a moose. If I had been born five or six decades earlier or so, I like to think I would have been a finger-snapping beatnik. Of course, I probably would have been born in Winnipeg and been married at 17. Not everyone can be Cleopatra.
"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond"
by e e cummings
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 easily will 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
And I know I haven't been posting regularly for some time. I'm trying to work on that, though I can't guarantee anything, especially not until the 16th is past.