(wwl) somewhere i have never traveled

November 21, 2012 § Leave a comment

by e e Cummings.

I just remembered a poem, from quite some time ago, that was sent to me by a friend. Actually I can’t remember if it was Paul who sent it to me or someone else. I don’t even talk to Paul any longer. But when I met him first in London a couple of years ago, I might have fallen in love with the arty side of him – that turned out to be his proper personality. Well, Paul, I don’t know if you sent me this poem. But it did marked my mind.


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 easily will 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


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