To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting. ~~E.E. Cummings
The words of E.E. Cummings still ring loud and true 50 years after his death in 1962. Cummings was an American poet (essayist, artist, painter, author and playwright) who spent his entire career bravely fighting for self as defined and advised in the quote above. He spent his life “fighting” many of the dogmas and societal stigmas that “defined” – he was a brave and courageous artist determined to live his unique life and calling to its utmost truth. He set the bar high for artists as he made the continuous decision to keep fighting, to be himself.
The sense of self, and of self-discovery, was with him at an early age. Cummings wrote poems from the age of 8-years-old onward and, while at Harvard, developed into a poet who ignored the traditional use of grammar and syntax in favor of a less common and more dynamic use of language. He also incorporated God, spirituality, and anti-establishment beliefs into his work. Cummings would serve time in a Normandy jail for accused espionage and serve his country in the military while harboring anti-war sentiments. There is a certain yin-yang fluidity to Cummings that is familiar to many artists. He reminds us of the depths and heights within the artist — the sense of riding out storms of change with a loud voice or alternately hiding silently in a quiet room comes to mind. Cummings, an accomplished and enigmatic avant-garde poet and author, became a preeminent 20th century voice that both spoke for and challenged the art of poetry. Or, more specifically, challenged the poet.
Excerpts:
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by moremy father moved through dooms of love
my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give, singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height this motionless forgetful where turned at his glance to shining here; that if(so timid air is firm) under his eyes would stir and squirm newly as from unburied which floats the first who,his april touch drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates woke dreamers to their ghostly roots and should some why completely weep my father's fingers brought her sleep: vainly no smallest voice might cry for he could feel the mountains grow.Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into beginjoy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice
The uncommon voice of e.e. cummings still challenges us to fight for our individual uniqueness – to live our life in an honest, open rebellion to sameness. I encourage all of my readers to spend some time with Cummings, read some more full-length poems, biographies and more at the links below. Allow his style, words, and poetry to challenge you! Who are you? Are you still fighting?
Related articles
- Mondays: E.E. Cummings on spring (donnalewiscowan.wordpress.com)
- Twit Lit: 14 Authors We Wish Were on Twitter (newsfeed.time.com)
- The moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself. To be nobody-but-yourself – in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else – means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. – e.e (freedomyear.com)
- thoughts on spring from a lower case poet (communicatingacrossboundariesblog.com)
