Whoop! And every time I think of "Spring semester" I of course think of Spring...and thus, yearn for green grass, lilacs, sunshine, and only having to wear a cardigan for a coat.
Things have been a little too routine lately. I get bored easily and to counter that I can be a bit of a busy body. Especially this time of year, when things are stagnant and cold and a lot of my friends are far, far away.
I've been reading a lot of E.E. Cummings lately, too.
I discovered Cummings when I was sixteen. His poetry struck a chord in me so deep that I devoured most of his poems in one night. But that's me to begin with -- a little obsessive.
But it was a special appreciation. That was when I first discovered poetry and I could relate with his poems - how they tangled with love and its mysteries, Spring time, and death.
Things that have always baffled me, and all of you, I'm sure.
He can also write in a manner that reflects an authentic emotion of longing, which as humans, we all feel.
It's beautiful poetry and I still know quite a few of his poems by heart.
He had a bit of a hard-on for writing about Spring and sex. I think that's what caught my attention first and foremost; the joy and thrill of reading something a little bit dirty. And then of course, my favorite season.
I just remember sitting and listening to Mirah with a huge volume of his poems. Cigarettes and coffee and all my other vices.
Feeling so enthralled that I could identify with him. His work.
That was a hard but special time in my life. I was filled with a lot of curiosity. I was searching and investigating and digging into things that would leave an impression on me. To this day, in fact.
"Embrace your pain. Make it apart of you"
I just hope that I can write like that someday. Write what's true and identifiable. Push the boundaries of language!
I really just hope to be published one day. That's my one dying wish -- publish my shit!
I don't really tell many people about that. Because it's such a lofty goal. And I'm still so self conscious about my poetry and prose. I never feel like I'm doing it right. But that's the beauty of it, nothing can be right or wrong. I just want to be good.
Well, I think I've bled my heart enough during this blog entry. Ha ha. I'll leave you with one of my favorite poems from Mr. Edward Estlin Cummings.
"I like my body when it is with your body.
It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
I like your body.
I like what it does, I like it hows.
I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smoothness and which I will again and again and again kiss.
I like kissing that and that of you.
I like, slowly stroking shocking electric fuzz of your electric fur and what-is-it comes over parting flesh...
and eyes big love-crumbs.
And possibly I like the thrill of under me you so quite new."
♡
No comments:
Post a Comment