Tuesday, February 22, 2011

''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

2 comments:

po said...

Beautiful poem.

Marius said...

hi again. you know i kind of forget i have your blog bookmarked for a few months at a stretch, and then i accidentally find it again, and am always inspired by your posts. loving it, keep it up :-)