Tuesday, August 29, 2006


Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head,

young death sits in a café
smiling, a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger

(i say "will he buy flowers" to you
and "Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard" i

say to you who are silent. - "Do you see
Life? he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
will He buy?
Les belles bottes - oh hear
, pas chères")

and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else

there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
likes flowers.

- e. e. cummings


Mister Tim said...

nd I do thank you for introducing me to e.e. cummings a)
ll those

byron smith said...

Was it really me wot did it? What a privilege!
Here's another fav...

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you
-------------- e. e. cummings

michael jensen said...

well, he certainly tests your typing skills.... which are undoubtedly superior to mine...

byron smith said...

Death is immense.
We all are his
with laughing mouths.
When we are in
the midst of life
he dares to weep
right in our midst.

byron smith said...

Oops - forgot to say that that last comment was a great poem by Rilke called "End Poem" that Lachlan posted over here.