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Reading e.e.cummings (a found poem)

 

In lieu of e.e.cummings’ birthday—October 14, 1894—I have been reading his poems and wanted to create a found poem of some of his work. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy Birthday, e.e.cummings. You were one of my first poetic loves.

 

a found poem, a lost poem

 

into the strenuous briefness:

look, my fingers, which
touched you

and your warm and crisp
littleness
—see? do not resemble my fingers

that move

into the hair-thin tints of yellow dawn

into the women-coloured twilight

the other day

i was passing a certain

gate

i looked up and thought to myself: if day has to become night
this is a beautiful way

rain fell (as it will in spring)

ropes of silver gliding from sunny thunder

into freshness

as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold

 

*

 

all lines in my poem, “a found poem, a lost poem,” are pulled from E.E.Cummings, Selected Poems, edited by Richard S. Kennedy. New York: Liveright, 1994.

 

 

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