open your heart

Esa Riippa

open your heart:

i'll give you a treasure

of tiniest world

a piece of forever with

summitless younger than

angels are mountains

rivery forests

towerful towns(queen

poet king float

sprout heroes of moonstar

flutter to and

swim blossoms of person)through

musical shadows while hunted

by daemons

seethe luminous

leopards(on wingfeet of thingfear)

come ships go

snowily sailing

perfect silence.

Absolute ocean

e.e. cummings

It's hard to say anything after that. Cummings is such a genius of expansion. This poem encompasses – well, the world – and forever. All the biggest things. And the way he goes so big and wild in such a small number of words it's the perfect reflection of what he intends to say – everything can be within a tiny thing. There are largenesses within infinitesimals. We have such heights to go to! We have such superlatives to experience. If, and this is the beautiful kicker, if we can open our hearts. Open our hearts -!?? What? How? Oh he does that – he did it in "Little Birds" too – do this with your heart, do that. Not easy, E.E.



Well, if you're going to offer the biggest things, it seems only right that you ask for the hardest things.But my goodness, that “Absolute ocean”, that's superb.

when faces called flowers

Catrin Welz-Stein

when faces called flowers float out of the ground

and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-

but keeping is downward and doubting and never

-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!

yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly

yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be

(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound

and wishing is having and having is giving-

but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense

-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!

now the pretty birds hover so she and so he

now the little fish quiver so you and so i

now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found

and having is giving and giving is living-

but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing

-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!

all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky

all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea

all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

e.e. cummings

I've been waiting forever to post this poem – but April's here, so the time is right. The mountains are dancing - ! That's so funny – it makes me think of Tolkien's Ents, the trees in their dance. It would be pretty glib to say that mountains don't dance, though – I mean, how do you know? The Bible says they clap their hands, so why couldn't they dance, too? Cummings says the birds and fish are frolicing and gamboling – and I think he's right. Isn't it possible that they enjoy themselves? I remember spring on the farm when the cows were let into the newly-green meadow for the first time. You've never seen such a hootenany! Tails in the air, gawky leaps and jumps, thunderingly disorganized stampedes in no particular direction... happy cows! If cows, why not birds and fish, why not mountains – why not us?

And then that line – that amazing line -

“when more than was lost has been found has been found” - I could say that over and over. More than was lost. More than was lost! Is that possible? It would take a lot of faith, to believe that. Dancing mountain faith.

here's to opening and upward

Catrin Welz-Stein

here's to opening and upward

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap

and to your (in my arms flowering so new)

self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains; and to

a disappearing poet of always, snow

and to morning; and to morning's beautiful friend

twilight (and a first dream called ocean) and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid

down with ought with because with every brain

which thinks it thinks, nor dares to feel (but up

with joy; and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess

of whose mad skill each world of blood is made

(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

e.e. cummings

I imagine cummings and his wife walking and getting their eyes so full of spring that he breaks out with this toast "here's to opening and upward", in an exclamation of appreciation. As if to say, look at all this spontaneous up-rising and breaking out of shells and casings and dirt! Let's do the same. Let's not be held in or pent up by fear or duty or obligation - let's be what we were meant to be and do what we were meant to do with feeling and joy. Because we can. Because it's good! And because it's spring. Let's take off our masks of sophistication and knowing (all pretense) and trust the "one undiscoverable guess" that life will always break out into newness like this, and that we will flower and re-flower with it.