Эдвард Каммингс, стихи
Американский поэт, писатель, художник, драматург.
Американский поэт, писатель, художник, драматург.
pity this busy monster, manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorbl...
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 ...
sometimes I am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which I will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we sh...
Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
...
what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend ...
when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage -
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age
when every thrush...
Where's Madge then,
Madge and her men?
buried with
Alice in her hair,
(but if you ask the rain
he'll not tell where.)
beauty makes terms
with time and his worms,
when loveliness
sa...
'Gay' is the captivating cognomen of a Young Woman of cambridge,
mass.
to whom nobody seems to have mentioned ye olde freudian wish;
when i contemplate her uneyes safely ensconced in thick gla...
this(let's remember)day died again and
again;whose golden,crimson dooms conceive
an oceaning abyss of orange dream
larger than sky times earth:a flame beyond
soul immemorially forevering am...
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a b...
(of Ever-Ever Land i speak
sweet morons gather roun'
who does not dare to stand or sit
may take it lying down)
down with the human soul
and anything else uncanned
for everyone carries ca...
o sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty how
often ...
nobody loses all the time
I had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was...
“next to of course god america I
love you land of the pilgrims’ and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn’s early my
country ’tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we sho...
my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
Isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of ...
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful whe...
may I feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she
(may I touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she
(let's go said he
not too far ...