Nov 27, 2013
An e.e. cummings Thanksgiving for Pantheists, Pagans, Generic Mystics, Animists, Deists, Theists, Agnostics, Atheists, and Doubting Methodists
(In my cummings book, Line 7 begins “and even,” not “for even”—I suspect Garrison Keillor’s secretary was typing on Sunday):
Also consider Poem 53 as a reply to Janet Loxley Lewis’ “Austerity” in my last post. Would she and e.e. cummings have hated each other? Are they actually disagreeing in these two poems? How bitterly? Which side of the argument are you partial to—cummings’ “little birds” or Loxley Lewis’ “monotony” of stars?
And now that I've caused myself to think in pairs, then, how can I re-post the golden-crowned kinglet without his cousin (I assume), the ruby-crowned kinglet? Do you have a favorite? Do you love one child more than the other?
You see, this is how football begins: you feel a kinship with a team's location or uniform and soon enough you're a tribalist, betting on Roman gladiators who rumble in the dirt, making themselves metaphors for war. And yet, I'm a fan, sort of.
It must be Sunday: I'm not making sense; surely I'm wrong. And therefore blessed.
There wasn’t a lot of commentary when I posted Poem 53 in May of 2010. Maybe it will be different this time.