“(heart,could we bear the marvel of this thing?)” ~ E. E. Cummings, from “If I learned Darkness from Our Searched World”

So hot today. Heat migraine won’t leave . . .

Reblogged from The Paris Review

“I was in doubt that I could make something of myself as a writer until I met two people who were very important to me: one was Gaston Lachaise and the other was E. E. Cummings. Cummings I loved, and I love his memory. He did a wonderful imitation of a wood-burning locomotive going from Tiflis to Minsk. He could hear a pin falling in soft dirt at the distance of three miles. Do you remember the story of Cummings’s death? It was September, hot, and Cummings was cutting kindling in the back of his house in New Hampshire. He was sixty-six or -seven or something like that. Marion, his wife, leaned out the window and asked, ‘Cummings, isn’t it frightfully hot to be chopping wood?’ He said, ‘I’m going to stop now, but I’m going to sharpen the ax before I put it up, dear.’ Those were the last words he spoke. At his funeral Marianne Moore gave the eulogy. Marion Cummings had enormous eyes. You could make a place in a book with them. She smoked cigarettes as though they were heavy, and she wore a dark dress with a cigarette hole in it.”

~ John Cheever, on E. E. Cummings

Photograph: E. E. Cummings leaning out a window, by Henry Dunham.

Link to list of Cummings’ Poems

                   

Music by David Jacobs Strain, “Half Way to the Coast”