It’s spring*
. . . And I have this toothache. The gods wept. Well, I wept. Free range moaning. Peter got back from hospital on Friday, and my tooth blew up on Saturday. Saturday was bad, Saturday night was worse, Sunday was unspeakable. Sunday night . . . well. I just about dragged Nightingale Wood out of my rapidly deteriorating intellect last night but I ain’t got nothing left.** I am, however, now full of antibiotics—and ibuprofen and paracetamol—and things should improve. Please. For tonight, however, let’s have some spring-garden photos.
*in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it’s
spring
and
the goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
When I was obliged to study this poem in high school I loathed it. I thought it was creepy and stupid and twee and that the only reason we were reading it was because it was short and people who didn’t like English could read it in homeroom, or on their way down the hall to English from algebra class. But ‘the goat-footed balloonMan whistles far and wee’ stuck with me whether I would or no, and I now think the poem catches the mad twitchy energy of spring very well. I picked up a few poets in school that have stood me admirably through the vicissitudes of life, and ee cummings is one of them. But while I like in Just-, here is another poem by him that just knocks me out:
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrows sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tall stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.
** The fact that I can’t eat because the entire left side of my mouth is swollen is Not Helping Anything. Soup. Scrambled eggs. Avocadoes: how convenient we have slightly too many of them. Couldn’t I slip into a nice little coma till this phase is over with? Wake me up after he pulls the tooth Tuesday week (next Tuesday).
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