A Poem by E.E. Cummings
The primary influence of my poetic youth—that is, writing I did at the time I first realized I was a poet—was E.E. Cummings. Paul Carroll spotted this right off, and suggested I try to change from that; I was resistant. He was right, of course, but it was too early for that and the time was not ripe.
On the last day of class, he asked everybody to read something aloud. That was the first time I ever heard (or heard of) "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. (The poem would later be the starting point for my own assays in the villanelle: see my poetry page under the titles The Condemnation, The Arraignment, and The Recusal.)
I recited "THANKSGIVING" BY Cummings—one of the few of his poems to bear a title, originally in all caps (I believe) so I have maintained that. It remains one of the few poems that I have memorized. "You didn't even look at the page" a classmate commented to me.
He took a lot of flak for insisting on reading this poem wherever he went. As a young lad, not knowing anything about the historic circumstances he was responding to, I could not help but feel admiration for his courage. The poem remains forceful today.
THANKSGIVING (1956)
by e.e. cummings
a monstering horror swallows
this unworld me by you
as the god of our fathers' fathers bows
to a which that walks like a who
but the voice-with-a-smile of democracy
announces night & day
"all poor little peoples that want to be free
just trust in the u s a"
suddenly uprose hungary
and she gave a terrible cry
"no slave's unlife shall murder me
for i will freely die"
she cried so high thermopylae
heard her and marathon
and all prehuman history
and finally The UN
"be quiet little hungary
and do as you are bid
a good kind bear is angary
we fear for the quo pro quid"
uncle sam shrugs his pretty
pink shoulders you know how
and he twitches a liberal titty
and lisps "i'm busy right now"
so rah-rah-rah democracy
let's all be as thankful as hell
and bury the statue of liberty
(because it begins to smell)
On the last day of class, he asked everybody to read something aloud. That was the first time I ever heard (or heard of) "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. (The poem would later be the starting point for my own assays in the villanelle: see my poetry page under the titles The Condemnation, The Arraignment, and The Recusal.)
I recited "THANKSGIVING" BY Cummings—one of the few of his poems to bear a title, originally in all caps (I believe) so I have maintained that. It remains one of the few poems that I have memorized. "You didn't even look at the page" a classmate commented to me.
He took a lot of flak for insisting on reading this poem wherever he went. As a young lad, not knowing anything about the historic circumstances he was responding to, I could not help but feel admiration for his courage. The poem remains forceful today.
THANKSGIVING (1956)
by e.e. cummings
a monstering horror swallows
this unworld me by you
as the god of our fathers' fathers bows
to a which that walks like a who
but the voice-with-a-smile of democracy
announces night & day
"all poor little peoples that want to be free
just trust in the u s a"
suddenly uprose hungary
and she gave a terrible cry
"no slave's unlife shall murder me
for i will freely die"
she cried so high thermopylae
heard her and marathon
and all prehuman history
and finally The UN
"be quiet little hungary
and do as you are bid
a good kind bear is angary
we fear for the quo pro quid"
uncle sam shrugs his pretty
pink shoulders you know how
and he twitches a liberal titty
and lisps "i'm busy right now"
so rah-rah-rah democracy
let's all be as thankful as hell
and bury the statue of liberty
(because it begins to smell)
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