“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

e.e. cummings

Commentary: I’ve loved this poem for a long time, lost it, and found it again. When I was in California, I went to the Benicia Library Booksale, and this poem was in one of several poetry collections I gathered up … I think my aunt, Cheryl, introduced me to e.e. cummings. Reading his poetry always makes me want to write without capitalization, as if everything were being whispered, and with funny punctuation, asifwordswerenotseparateandeverythingtheyexpresswere intimatelyclosetogether. (for me, the first line, the seventh line, and the last line … areallverybeautiful.)

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