There are more things that are dreamt of

I have been stirring things up lately (although I have a history of doing that) here in Phoenix, primarily concerning poetry.  I’ve been telling St. John’s College graduates outrageous things like Plato was a poet, and poetry is better than philosophy, and mostly ranting about Beauty in general.  But it reminded me of something that I did once.  I memorized this poem (below) while riding the metro into D.C. to intern on the hill for Senator Brownback.  This took place during the summer between Junior and Senior year at UD.  One morning I walked into the office and just recited the whole thing to the receptionists and a couple Legislative Correspondents.  But you have to do that sometimes.

what if a much of a which of a wind
e.e. cummings

what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer’s lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend: blow space to time)
—when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
the single secret will still be man

what if a keen of a lean wind flays
screaming hills with sleet and snow:
strangles valleys by ropes of thing
and stifles forests in white ago?
Blow hope to terror; blow seeing to blind
(blow pity to envy and soul to mind)
—whose hearts are mountains, roots are trees,
it’s they shall cry hello to the spring

what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn’t:blow death to was)
—all nothing’s only our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live