e.e. cummings

e. e. cummings

Poetry on Peace

e. e. cummings:

love is a place (1935)
these children singing in stone (1940)
silence (1958)
i am a little church (1958)
enter no(silence (1963)

Edited by Peter Y. Chou

love is a place

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

No Thanks #58 (1935), p. 443


these children singing in stone

these children singing in stone a
silence of stone these
little children wound with stone
flowers opening for

ever these silently lit
tle children are petals
their song is a flower of
always their flowers

of stone are
silently singing
a song more silent
than silence these always

children forever
singing wreathed with singing
blossoms children of
stone with blossoming

know if a
lit tle
tree listens

forever to always children singing forever
a song made
of silent as stone silence of

50 Poems #37 (1940), p. 525







(inquiry before snow

"Poem 40" from 95 Poems (1958), p. 712


i am a little church

i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
—i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
—i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

"Poem 77" from 95 Poems (1958), p. 749


enter no(silence

enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh
is singing)silence:but unsinging. In
spectral such hugest how hush,one

dead leaf stirring makes a crash

—far away(as far as alive)lies
april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some
perpetually roaming whylessness—

autumn has gone:will winter never come?

o come,terrible anonymity;enfold
phantom me with the murdering minus of cold
—open this ghost with millionary knives of wind—
scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and

        (very whiteness:absolute peace,
never imaginable mystery)

from 73 Poems #67 (1963), p. 839.

e. e. cummings (1894-1962),
Complete Poems, (1913-1962)
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, NY, 1972

Notes: The page numbers refer to the 1972 edition of E.E. Cummings' Complete Poems.

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