Monday, February 14, 2011


somewhere i have never travelled - by e. e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Image from Wikipedia.


Cathy said...


Grandmère Mimi said...

The poem is lovely.

Grandmère Mimi said...

As are the roses.

Cathy said...

I meant the poem, I love ee cummings, but the roses are beautiful too.

Are you doing anything Valentiney for dinner, Mimi? ...

Grandmère Mimi said...

Cathy, we have reservations for dinner at Café Milano in Houma, the next town over.

Cathy said...

I have just checked it out, looks lovely. Nice Italian food.

Grandmère Mimi said...

It's quite good, Cathy. We've eaten there many times. We have a gift certificate from Christmas, so our meal will cost us little or nothing. :-)

Paul said...

Lovely poem. May you and GP have a wonderful dinner.