Cummings: His Paint, Life, and Words

Landscape by E.E. Cummings, no date.

I was recently reminded of E.E. Cummings' work as an artist as well as a poet. I was unable to find many pieces online, but judging from this one, his art looks like his poetry (his poetry reads like his art?), spilling over with color and energy and interrupted lines of thought.

Cummings, whose name was only decapitalized by publishers who thought continuity with his poetry would be a brilliant idea (uh, okay), at thirty years old lost his father, whom he was very close to, inspiring poems such as "my father moved through dooms of love." It can be assumed that he also revered his mother, after reading "if there are any heavens." Cummings was married three times and had one child, Nancy, from whom he was separated when his wife divorced him around 1924. Nancy and her father finally reunited in 1946. Cummings died in 1962 and is buried in Boston.

may my heart always be open to little...
by E.E. Cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile