Over the past year and a half, the below E. E. Cummings poem has been popping into my head a lot. I first read it in a college rhetoric class, way back in the day. (Don't want you thinking I'm some kind of hippie going to poetry readings at some beatnik joint.) It's a poem about a guy not believing in the horrors of war. That is until the Japanese drop a bomb on his head.
In a "real world" situation, I am routinely left gobsmacked (hence the picture) by how utterly myopic a certain person I'm dealing with is. They, with a determination and assurance of a right and noble cause that would make a Jehovah's Witness blush, have continued to plunge headlong and headstrong through things heedless of the consequences; ignoring all advice to the contrary. (What a sentence.)
And now, Mr. Cummings…
plato told
him:he couldn't
believe it(jesus
told him;he
wouldn't believe
it)lao
tsze
certainly told
him,and general
(yes
mam)
sherman;
and even
(believe it
or
not)you
told him:i told
him;we told him
(he didn't believe it,no
sir)it took
a nipponized bit of
the old sixth
avenue
el;in the top of his head:to tell
him
4 comments:
I hear ee cummings and think of a different poem.
And then you said beatnik and now I'm thinking of Ginsberg. "Angel headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night." {snap, snap, snap, snap}
And then you said beatnik and now I'm thinking of Dot's Poetry Corner (Animaniacs).
Mary had a little lamb.
With mint jelly.
(snap, snap, snap, snap)
I am sitting back here in my beret snapping my fingers in your honor.
Ya...
I like the vibe ova here..
Cool baby
Post a Comment