Visual Encyclopedia

E. E. Cummings

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who knows if the moon’s a baloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky—filled with pretty people? (and if you and i should get into it,if they should take me and take you into their baloon, why then we’d go up higher with all the pretty people than houses and steeples and clouds: go sailing away and away sailing into a keen city which nobody’s ever visited,where always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

in the rain- darkness, the sunset being sheathed i sit and think of you the holy city which is your face your little cheeks the streets of smiles your eyes half- thrush half-angel and your drowsy lips where float flowers of kiss and there is the sweet shy pirouette your hair and then your dancesong soul. rarely-beloved a single star is uttered,and i think of you

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

let’s live suddenly without thinking under honest trees, a stream does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling -water pursues the angry dream of the shore. By midnight, a moon scratches the skin of the organised hills an edged nothing begins to prune let’s live like the light that kills and let’s as silence, because Whirl’s after all: (after me)love,and after you. I occasionally feel vague how vague idon’t know tenuous Now- spears and The Then-arrows making do our mouths something red,something tall

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

as is the sea marvelous from god’s hands which sent her forth to sleep upon the world and the earth withers the moon crumbles one by one stars flutter into dust but the sea does not change and she goes forth out of hands and she returns into hands and is with sleep…. love, the breaking of your soul upon my lips

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie, Life would be delight,— But things couldn’t go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn’t be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I’d be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn’t be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,— Yet they’d all despair, For if here was there We wouldn’t be we.

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

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 its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones,and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz of your electric furr,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

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will i complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

A collection of some of Cummings's childhood drawings. Just as creative then as he was when crafting his famous poetry.

Contributed by Sammo Lea