Saturday, October 27, 2007

e.e. cummings

last night i curled up on my comfy couch, wrapped up in my thick LL Bean blanket and watched an old favorite of mine, hannah and her sisters. there are a million things i love about this film including the fact that dianne wiest's character reminds me more than a little bit of...ME. (and a role for which she won an Oscar in 1986.)

my favorite moment: a haunting and ever-so-beautiful reading by barbara hershey of an e.e. cummings poem.

i forgot how much i love that poem.

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


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 will easily 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

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