Sharing Saturday

During our recent move, the movers strained under many boxes of books, commenting more than once while loading and then, with a different group of men, unloading, “You really have a lot of books!”  ‘Tis true, I confess, a vice (perhaps) I don’t care to break, although I try now to confine my bibiliophilia only to libraries, where all trophies must be returned or paid for.

One of my main tasks these days after moving in is to find places for all these boxes of books and I’m striving (with much difficulty) to winnow out those books I may not want or need. It’s very much as I imagine cutting off a body part might be.  To fill one box to donate feels as if I’ve won a major prize!  Unfortunately, all too often I find treasures I’d forgotten I’d had, as most of them have been stored in boxes in the attic for some time, and I alternately want to drop all else to dive immediately in or pack them all loving away again against the day when I have an entire room for a library.

Today I came across a fat book containing all the poems of e. e. cummings.  I almost made it to the donate pile until I committed the fatal mistake of looking inside, opening to one of the pages marked for all these years by bits of paper.  While reading poetry can be a beautiful solitary pursuit, one that plucks all the strings of the emotions, it’s even better share.  So here are a few of the poems I enjoyed today.  I hope you find one that touches your emotions and makes your Saturday brighter.

in Just-

in Just- 
spring       when the world is mud- 
luscious the little 
lame baloonman 

whistles       far       and wee 

and eddieandbill come 
running from marbles and 
piracies and it's 
spring 


when the world is puddle-wonderful 


the queer 
old baloonman whistles 
far       and         wee 
and bettyandisbel come dancing 


from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 


it's 
spring 
and 


		the 

goat-footed 


baloonMan       whistles 
far 
and 
wee 

.....................


it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be--
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

......................

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
        who used to
        ride a watersmooth-silver
                                  stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
                                                  Jesus

he was a handsome man
                      and what i want to know is
how do you like you blueeyed boy
Mister Death

from Tulips and Chimneys (1923)