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 easily will 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
2 comments:
Ma'am ,
I love how in that quote from Annie Dillard she refers to the beauty that shines ' NOT in its imperfections but *in spite* of them '
(The astericks and tha capitalization I have added).
It is immensely great that Miss Dillard does NOT present that mendacious and trite notion that alleges that there is beauty in intentionally done imperfections , for there isn't .
Perfection is what we should all be striving for .
An ointment without any flies is long overdue---let that be the great adage .
Thank you very much , ma;am, for sharing that quote from Annie Dillard .
It DOES inspire .
It provides a ray of light in this present gloomy age .
Sincerely ,
Jason L .
Whomever you may be, you gave me something to think about, sir.
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