from spiralling ecstatically this

proud nowhere of earth’s most prodigious night


blossoms a newborn babe: around him, eyes


–gifted with every keener appetite


than mere unmiracle can quite appease–


humbly in their imagined bodies kneel


(over time space doom dream while floats the whole

perhapsless mystery of paradise)

mind without soul may blast some universe

to might have been, and stop ten thousand stars

but not one heartbeat of this child; nor shall

even prevail a million questionings against the silence of his mother’s smile

–whose only secret all creation sings.

e. e. cummings

love is more thicker than forget

more thinner than recall

more seldom than a wave is wet

more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moony

and less it shall unbe

than all the sea which only

is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win

less never than alive

less bigger than the least begin

less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly

and more it cannot die

than all the sky which only

is higher than the sky

e. e. cummings

pode nem sempre ser assim; e eu digo

que se os teus lábios, que amei, tocarem

os de outro, e os teus dedos fortes e meigos cingirem

o seu coração, como o meu em tempos não muito distantes;

se na face de outro os teus suaves cabelos repousarem

nesse silêncio que eu sei, ou nessas

palavras sublimes e estremecidas que, dizendo demasiado

ficam desamparadamente diante do espírito vozeando;

se assim for, eu digo se assim for –

tu do meu coração, manda-me um recado;

que eu posso ir junto dele, e tomar as suas mãos,

dizendo, Aceita toda a felicidade de mim.

Então hei-de voltar a cara, e ouvir um pássaro

cantar terrivelmente longe nas terras perdidas.

e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your


body. It is so quite new a thing.


Muscles better and nerves more.


i like your body.  i like what it does,


i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine


of your body and its bones, and the trembling


-firm-smooth ness and which i will


again and again and again


kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,


i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz


of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes


over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,



and possibly i like the thrill



of under me you so quite new

e. e. cummings

[ festejou ontem cento e vinte risonhos outonos o senhor cummings. que contes muitos edward estlin. ]

it is at moments after i have dreamed


of the rare entertainment of your eyes,


when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;


at moments when the glassy darkness holds



the genuine apparition of your smile


(it was through tears always) and silence moulds


such strangeness as was mine a little while;



moments when my once more illustrious arms


are filled with fascination, when my breast


wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:



one pierced moment whiter than the rest



—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep


i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

e. e. cummings

quando o cabelo cai e os olhos se turvam. E

as coxas esquecem (quando os relógios sussurram

e a noite grita) Quando as mentes

se enrugam e os corações se tornam mais frágeis a cada

Instante (quando numa manhã a Memória se levanta,

com desajeitados e murchos dedos

vertendo a cor da juventude e o que foi

num copo sujo) Poções para as Indisposições

(uma receita contra o Riso a Virgindade a Morte)

então querida o

modo como as árvores se Fazem em folhas

as Nuvens abertas tomam o sol as montanhas

permanecem E os oceanos Não dormem não interessa

nada; então (então as únicas mãos por assim dizer são

aquelas sempre que rastejam devagar sobre qualquer

rosto numerado capaz do maior inexpressivo olhar do

menor sisudo sorriso

ou do que quer que seja que as ervas sintam e os peixes

pensem)

e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your


body. It is so quite new a thing.


Muscles better and nerves more.


i like your body.  i like what it does,


i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine


of your body and its bones, and the trembling


-firm-smooth ness and which i will


again and again and again


kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,


i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz


of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes


over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,



and possibly i like the thrill



of under me you so quite new

e. e. cummings

If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,


And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,


Life would be delight,—


But things couldn’t go right


For in such a sad plight


I wouldn’t be I.



If earth was heaven and now was hence,


And past was present, and false was true,


There might be some sense


But I’d be in suspense


For on such a pretense


You wouldn’t be you.



If fear was plucky, and globes were square,


And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee


Things would seem fair,—


Yet they’d all despair,


For if here was there


We wouldn’t be we.

e. e. cummings

esta é uma das grandes canções da minha vida, e por três razões: 
pelo poema de e. e. cummings, 
pela melodia de susanne abbuehl 
e pela junção do poema com a melodia. 
nem sempre a perfeição é tão evidente.



yes is a pleasant country:
if’s wintry
(my lovely)
let’s open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april’s where we’re)

l(a

le

af

fa

ll

s)

one

l

iness

e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

mergulha nos sonhos

mergulha nos sonhos
ou um lema pode ser teu aluimento
(as árvores são as suas raízes
e o vento é o vento)


confia no teu coração
se os mares se incendeiam
(e vive pelo amor
embora as estrelas para trás andem)


honra o passado
mas acolhe o futuro
(e esgota no bailado
deste casamento a tua morte)


não te importes com o mundo
com quem faz a paz e a guerra
(pois deus gosta de raparigas
e do amanhã e da terra)

e. e. cummings

que o meu coração esteja sempre aberto às pequenas
aves que são os segredos da vida
o que quer que cantem é melhor do que conhecer
e se os homens não as ouvem estão velhos


que o meu pensamento caminhe pelo faminto
e destemido e sedento e servil
e mesmo que seja domingo que eu me engane
pois sempre que os homens têm razão não são jovens


e que eu não faça nada de útil
e te ame muito mais do que verdadeiramente
nunca houve ninguém tão louco que não conseguisse
chamar a si todo o céu com um sorriso

e. e. cummings

{ lê-se, vê-se e ouve-se muito melhor aqui }

chamar a si todo o céu com um sorriso

que o meu coração esteja sempre aberto às pequenas
aves que são os segredos da vida
o que quer que cantem é melhor do que conhecer
e se os homens não as ouvem estão velhos


que o meu pensamento caminhe pelo faminto
e destemido e sedento e servil
e mesmo que seja domingo que eu me engane
pois sempre que os homens têm razão não são jovens


e que eu não faça nada de útil
e te ame muito mais do que verdadeiramente
nunca houve ninguém tão louco que não conseguisse
chamar a si todo o céu com um sorriso

e. e. cummings

(tradução de cecília pinheiro)

yes is a pleasant country:
if’s wintry
(my lovely)
let’s open the year


both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear


love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april’s where we’re)

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 skilfully, 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




e. e. cummings