'Tis it true that E. E. Cummings's "poems spend nearly all of their time in the darkness of closed books, not in the light of the window or the reading lamp" or that "Whatever the claims for his influence, he is not widely enjoyed these days"?! My injoymoments of Cummings work doth wide eyed day-lily wild daily daisy-side I daly these days. If this article
were turned into me as part of a writing course, I'd scratch it all up with the Red Pen--and this blogger doth not invoke the Red Pen except on the most severe and hypothetical of occasions--all scratchy outted and question marked those generalizations and the lack of evidence. I find it absent soul-loosed-singing objectionable that Collins makes this claim about Cummings' contemporary audience and then, rather than citing some any sort of source, jump cuts to Cummings's bio. O my bloggerissimo, it's it to rue? Pour hopes. Ifen so, the pleased here there is sure to be fond a grain.
it is funny,you will be dead some day.
By you the mouth hair eyes,and i mean
the unique and nervously obscene
need;it's funny. They will all be dead
knead of lustfulhunched deeplytoplay
lips and stare the gross fuzzy-pash
--dead--and the dark gold delicately smash....
gass,and the stars,of my shoulder in stead.
It is a funny,thing. And you will be
and i and all the days and nights that matter
knocked by sun moon jabbed jerked with ecstasy
....tremble(not knowing how much better
than me you will like the rain's face and
the rich improbably hands of the Wind)