This poem by E.E. Cummings is one of my favorite pieces of literary art. Cummings’ free, unbridled disregard for what is deemed “proper” grammar and syntax is what makes him so special. The deeply personal rhythm that he captures in his writing could only be conveyed through his artfully deconstructed verses. This unique ability to create a stunningly abstract image from words, whilst maintaining their meaningful connotations, is something that I will always admire.
what time is it ? it is by every star
a different time,and each most falsely true;
or so subhuman superminds declare
-nor all their times encompass me and you:
when are we never,but forever now
(hosts of eternity;not guests of seem )
believe me,dear,clocks have enough to do
without confusing timelessness and time.
Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell-
measure imagine,mystery,a kiss
-not though mankind would rather know than feel;
mistrusting utterly that timelessness
whose absence would make your whole life and my
(and infinite our ) merely to undie
-e.e. cummings
