This week I’ve been walking around Washington reciting that one line from that one E.E. Cummings poem:
when the world is puddle-wonderful”
E.E. Cummings seems to be overlooked these days, not because people don’t know his work, but because too many people know it, too many people started liking poetry in high school because of him. There’s no hip, we think, in liking poetry everyone likes (is it still poetry if we’re all reading it? If a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one around … ?).
But the fact is, it is just spring in Washington, and the world is soggy and fragile, and the kids are out.
There’s a reason we thought these words were true in the first place.
So let’s say them as we trod new grass and try to ignore the sinister ending for now (is it just me, or is this the creepiest line in all of literature:
P.S. I’m seeing this movie tomorrow. Not usually my taste, but the trailer had me laughing.
More poetry for the weekend, if you’d like:
Do you ever get poems stuck in your head? NyQuil seems to bring that out in me
I witness Cell Phone Theft on the Metro
Ode to Whole Foods
My current favorite: Riveted, by Robyn Sarah