E. E. Cummings...

[FLOWER]

E(dward) E(stlin) Cummings (1894-1962) u lind ne Cambridge, Massachusetts. ishte djale i nje ministri. Si nje i ri ne Harvard, studioi greqisht dhe latinisht. gjate luftes se pare boterore kur ishte duke sherbyer si shofer ambulance u arrestua gabimisht dhe e futen ne nje burg ne France, nje eksperience kjo e cila beri te lindte nje roman i mbushur plot me karaktere te gjalle te shokeve te tij te burgut, "The enormous room" (1922). edhe pse shume nga poezite e tij jane eksperimentale ne anen tipograpike, ne teme dhe sentiment jane me tradicionale se duken. pervec poezise Cummings shkroi edhe ese, drama perfshire "Him" dhe "Santa Claus" dhe prodhoi punime te mjaftueshme si piktor dhe artist grafik. gjate gjithe karrieres se tij ai ngriti lart tema te thjeshta: dashuria eshte e mire, salltanetet jane te keqija, nje individ vlen sa nje qind shoqeri te pafytyra.



I like my body when it is with yours


i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like it 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 fur, 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

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

much i cannot)
tear up the world:& toss
it away;or
cause one causeless cloud to purely grow
but,never
doubt my weakness
makes more than most
strength(less than these how
less than least flowers of rain)thickly
i fail slenderly i
win(like touch all the stars or
to to live in the moon
a while)and shall
carve time so we'll before
what's death
come(in one bed.

[FLOWER]

Buffalo Bill's


Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death


(eshte e shkruar keshtu pasi i perket atij lloji shkrimi poezish qe quhet open forms)

[Larsus]

e.e. cummings - i carry your heart with me

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 the 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 my heart)

[Larsus]

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink.


(from 'Humanity i love you', 1925

ka pas thene:

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls / are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds / (also,with the church's protestant blessings / daughters,unscented shapeless spirited) they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead". (from 'the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls', 1923)

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the doting

fingers of
prurient philosophies pinched
and poked

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy
knees squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

i am so glad and very
merely my fourth will cure
the laziest self of weary
the hugest sea of shore

so far your nearness reaches
a lucky fifth of you
turns people into eachs
and cowards into grow

our can'ts were born to happen
our mosts have died in more
our twentieth will open
wide a wide open door

we are so both and oneful
night cannot be so sky
sky cannot be so sunful
i am through you so i

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

- By a - what do u call yourself? painter? poet? playwright? satirist? essayist? novelist?
- Artist.
- But not a successful artist, in the popular sense?
- Don't be silly.
- Yet you probably consider your art of vital consequence -
- Improbably.
- To the world?
- To myself.
- What about the world Mr. Cummings?
- I live in so many: which one do you mean?
- I mean the everyday humdrum world, which includes me and you and millions upon millions of men and women.
- So?
- Did it ever occur to you that people in this socalled world of ours are not interested in art?
- Da da.
-Isn't that too bad?
- How?
- If people were interested in art, you as an artist would receive wider recognition.
- Wider?
- Of course.
- Not deeper.
- Deeper?
- Love for example is deeper than flattery.
- Ah - but (now that you mention it) isn't love just a trifle oldfashioned?
- I dare say.
- And aren't you supposed to be ultramodernistic?
- I dare say.
- But I dare say you don't dare say precisely why you consider your art of vital consequence-
- Thanks to I dare say my art I am able to become myself.
- Well well! Doesn't that sound as if people who weren't artists couldn't become themselves?
- Does it?
- What do you think people who aren't artists become?
- I feel they don't become. I feel nothing happens to them. I feel negation becomes of them.
- Negation?
- You paraphrased it a few moments ago.
- How?
- "This so called world of yours"
- labouring under the childish delusion that econimic forces don't exist eh?
- I am labouring.
- Answer one question: do economic forces exist or do they not?
- Do you believe in ghosts?
- I said economic forces.
- So what?
- Well, well, well! Where ignorance is bliss...Listen, Mr. Lowercase Highbrow -
- Shoot.
- I'm afraid you've never been hungry.
- Don't be afraid.

(New York 1932 e.e.cummings)

[EXODUS]

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, misteriously) 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 we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour 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 ---> (e pakrahasueshme)

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Duket disi kontradiktuese fakti qe ai perdor fjale me nje fuqi te tille gjigande emocionale, por ne nje menyre shume "zbutese" e mgjth produkti si rezultat eshte me te vertete madheshtor!

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

byrazer, a ma perkthen nje cike ate komentin me lart se s'morra vesh gje une (ate me germa te shkrifta flas, se ai me germa te zeza duket qarte). C'jane keto fjale "gjigande emocionale" dhe ky "produkt si rezultat"? Apo i ke hyre studimeve te gjuhes per se prapthi eh? :)

Seriozisht, je ne kontradikte te hapur me vete cummings, ndersa me shqipen je ne lufte. Vive le patriotisme (lol) Edhe mos na merr zjarr si fije kashte tani; vetem nje sugjerim te bera.