the latest from e. e. cummings

Edward Estlin Cummings, 64 next week, is the goat-footed balloonMan of U.S. poetry, an image he himself used to describe a Pan-piping street vendor of gay toy balloons. In the weather of this poet's heart the season is spring, and as this first collection of new poems in eight years testifies, there is plenty of spring left in his lines (95 Poems; Harcourt, Brace; $4). As ever, Poet Cummings celebrates the life of feeling--love, death and the infinite sea changes of nature. Age has only slightly mellowed Cummings, has not at all curbed his typographical pretzel bending--which can now be recognized for the attention-holding device it is. Fresh, singular, vivid and intense, Cummings' verses recall the aim he once set for himself as a poet: "I can express it in 15 words, by quoting The Eternal Question and Immortal Answer of Burlesk, viz., 'Would you hit a woman with a child?--No, I'd hit her with a brick.'" Cummings is still hitting his readers with bricks--but also with the flowers and the fancies of a unique lyricism. crazy jay blue) demon laughshrieking at me your scorn of easily hatred of timid & loathing for (dull all regular righteous comfortable) unworlds

thief crook cynic (swimfloatdrifting fragment of heaven) trickstervillain raucous rogue & vivid voltaire you beautiful anarchist (i salute thee dive for dreams or a slogan may topple you (trees are their roots and wind is wind) trust your heart if the seas catch fire (and live by love though the stars walk backwar

honour the past but welcome the future (and dance your death away at this wedding)

never mind a world with its villains or heroes (for god likes girls and tomorrow and the earth) maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea from spiralling ecstatically this

proud nowhere of earth's most prodigious night blossoms a newborn babe:around him,eyes --gifted with every keener appetite than mere unmiracle can quite appease-- humbly in their imagined bodies kneel (over time space doom dream while floats the whole perhapsless mystery of paradise)

mind without soul may blast some universe to might have been,and stop ten thousand stars but not one heartbeat of this child ;nor shall even prevail a million questionings against the silence of his mother's smile

--whose only secret all creation sings spring !may-- everywhere's here (with a low high low and the bird on the bough) how?why #151;we never we know (so kiss me)shy sweet eagerly my most dear

(die!live) the new is the true and to lose is to have --we never we know-- brave!brave (the earth and the sky are one today)my very so gay young love

why?how-- we never we know

(with a high low high in the may in the spring) live.'die (forever is now) and dance you suddenly blossoming tree --i'll sing

o (rounD) moon,how do you(rouNd er than roUnd)float; who lly &(rOunder than) go :ldenly( Round est)

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