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Read Ebook: Puella mea by Klee Paul Artist Modigliani Amedeo Artist Picasso Pablo Artist Roesch Kurt Artist Cummings E E Edward Estlin
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Ebook has 167 lines and 14690 words, and 4 pages
Artists: Paul Klee Pablo Picasso Amedeo Modigliani Kurt Roesch
PUELLA MEA
BY E.E. CUMMINGS
Harun Omar and Master Hafiz keep your dead beautiful ladies. Mine is a little lovelier than any of your ladies were.
In her perfectest array my lady, moving in the day, is a little stranger thing than crisp Sheba with her king in the morning wandering.
Through the young and awkward hours my lady perfectly moving, through the new world scarce astir my fragile lady wandering in whose perishable poise is the mystery of Spring --moving in the unskilful day my lady utterly alive, to me is a more curious thing than ever to Judea's king were the shapely sharp cunning and withal delirious feet of the Princess Salome carefully dancing in the noise of Herod's silence, long ago.
If she a little turn her head i know that i am wholly dead: nor ever did on such a throat the lips of Tristram slowly dote, La beale Isoud whose leman was. And if my lady look at me with a look of faerie, perhaps a little suddenly --at her glance my spirit shies rearing
But should my lady smile, it were a flower of so pure surprise as trembling used to yield with dew when the world was young and new But should my lady's beauty play at not speaking the silence of her face doth immediately make in my heart so great a noise, as in the sharp and thirsty blood of Paris would not all the Troys of Helen's beauty: never did Lord Jason so wholly burn, to undertake Medea's rescuing eyes; nor he when swooned the white egyptian day who with Egypt's body lay.
Lovely as those ladies were mine is a little lovelier.
And if she speak in her frail way, it is wholly to bewitch my smallest thought with a most swift radiance wherein slowly drift murmurous things divinely bright; it is foolingly to smite my spirit with the lithe free twitch of scintillant space, with the cool writhe of gloom truly which syncopate some sunbeam's skilful fingerings; it is utterly to lull with foliate inscrutable sweetness my soul obedient; it is to stroke my being with numbing forests frolicsome, fleetly mystical, aroam with keen creatures of idiom --it is distinctly to confute my reason with the deep caress of every most shy thing and mute, it is to quell me with the twinge of all living intense things.
Never my soul so fortunate is as invisibly when upon her palpable solitude a furtive occult fragrance steals, a gesture of immaculate perfume--whereby my soul is wont wholly to know the poignant instantaneous fern whose scrupulous enchanted fronds toward all things intrinsic yearn, the immanent subliminal fern of her delicious voice --the vocal fern, always which feels the keen ecstatic actual tread of all things exquisite and dead, all living things and beautiful.
Her body is most beauteous, being for all things amorous fashioned very curiously of roses and of ivory. The immaculate crisp head is such as only certain dead and careful painters love to use for their youngest angels Upon a keen and lovely throat the strangeness of her face doth float, which in eyes and lips consists --always upon the mouth there trysts curvingly a fragile smile which like a flower lieth
Springing from fragrant shoulders small, ardent, and perfectly withal smooth to stroke and sweet to see as a supple and young tree, her slim lascivious arms alight in skilful wrists which hint at flight --my lady's very singular and slenderest hands moreover are of all things perfect the most frail.
Each tapering breast is firm and smooth that in a lovely fashion doth from my lady's body grow; as morning may a lily know, her petaled flesh doth entertain the adroit blood's mysterious skein Her waist is a most tiny hinge of flesh, a winsome thing and strange; apt in my hand warmly to lie it is a throbbing neck whereby to grasp the belly's ample vase --'tis a gate unto a palace intricate in whose dome the trembling bliss of a kingdom wholly is.
Beneath her thighs such legs are seen as were the pride of the world's queen: each is a verb, miraculous inflected oral devious, beneath the body's breathing noun Each ankle is divinely shy; as if for fear you would espy the little distinct foot
When the world was like a song heard behind a golden door, poet and sage and caliph had to love them and to make them glad ladies with lithe eyes and long --fashioned very curiously of roses and of ivory if naked she appear to me my flesh is an enchanted tree; with her lips' most frail parting my body hears the cry of Spring, and with their frailest syllable its leaves go crisp with miracle.
Love!--maker of my lady, in that alway beyond this poem or any poem she of whose body words are afraid perfectly beautiful is, forgive these words which i have made. And never boast your dead beauties, you greatest lovers in the world! who with Grania strangely fled, who with Egypt went to bed, whom white-thighed Semiramis put up her mouth to wholly kiss-- never boast your dead beauties, mine being unto me sweeter Diarmid Paris and Solomon, Omar Harun and Master Hafiz, to me your ladies are all one-- keep your dead beautiful ladies.
Eater of all things lovely--Time! upon whose watering lips the world poises a moment gesticulates, and disappears-- of all dainties which do crowd gaily upon oblivion sweeter than any there is one; to touch it is the fear of rhyme-- in life's very fragile hour used to stroll one or two ladies like flowers made, softly used to wholly move slender ladies made of dream
Keep your dead beautiful ladies Harun Omar and Master Hafiz.
This edition of E.E. Cummings' Puella Mea with reproductions of drawings and paintings by Klee is made possible through the kind permission of Curt Valentin of Buchholz Gallery. The Modigliani drawing is used by the courtesy of his publishers, in Milan, Italy. For the drawing by Picasso thanks are due to Mary Callery, who consented to its use. Kurt Roesch contributed his drawing which is the only illustration expressly made for this book when it was decided to have work by other modern masters in addition to the one drawing by the author himself, which appears on the first text page of his poem.
S.A. JACOBS, THE GOLDEN EAGLE PRESS
Mr. Ford then made his plans, but, as he needed the help of Paddy in carrying them out, it was decided to postpone action until the lumberman could get around--on crutches, at least.
Mr. Ford stayed a day or so in camp with his daughter and her friends, going about to look at the various boundaries, and arranging certain details with Ted Franklin. He was entertained by the young people, and seemed to enjoy himself.
He did not go near the strip in dispute, however, preferring to wait until he was ready with his plans. Paddy was slowly getting better, and Mr. Ford went back to Deepdale, to look after matters there, arranging to come back as soon as Paddy could limp around.
Meanwhile the young people made the most of their life in the great wintry woods, for they were to return home for the Christmas holidays, as school would open the first of the new year.
There were sleigh-rides, coasting, skating occasionally, and some more ice boating, though, because of considerable snow, the latter sport was rather curtailed.
Occasionally Mr. Blackford came out for a day or so, but he had no good news regarding his missing sister. He had followed several clues unsuccessfully.
"But somehow, in spite of all my disappointments, I feel that I will be successful before long," he affirmed.
"We hope so," replied Amy, gently, and the others echoed her words.
Then came a day when Paddy could limp about. He was a happy man, and, in answer to a telegram sent him with this news, Mr. Ford returned word that he would come up and assist at the "last act in the lumber play," as Will called it.
Accompanied by a court officer, and with Allen Washburn as consulting attorney, Grace's father reached the camp one evening.
"Do you think you can stand it to face Jallow to-morrow, Paddy?" he asked.
"I'm sure I can. I'm thinkin' he won't face me, though."
"Maybe not. We'll see. Well, we'll go over and take possession of the disputed strip in the morning."
The court officer and Allen nodded.
"May we come along, Daddy, and see the fun?" asked Grace.
"Well," replied her father, "I don't know as there will be much fun, but--yes, you may be there."
THE LYNX
Over the snow to where, according to Ted Franklin, the Jallow lumbermen had last been seen cutting the valuable timber, went Mr. Ford and his little party, including the boys and girls. There was eager anticipation in their demeanor.
"What do you suppose your father will do?" asked Mollie of Grace, as they rode along in the big sled, for, out of consideration of Paddy's leg, they rode instead of walked.
"I don't know," was the answer. "But I guess daddy has his plans all made."
"I just hope that Alice Jallow sees how we come out ahead!" went on Mollie, half-vindictively.
"Mollie!" reproached Betty, gently.
"I don't care. She--she's a--cat!"
Mr. Ford, Paddy and Allen were consulting with the court officer, Will and Frank were discussing a prospective hunting trip, and the girls were planning Christmas surprises as the sled slid on.
"Here's the new line," said Paddy, as they came to a pile of stones. "And there's where it ought to be," he added, as they drove across the valuable strip in dispute. There was a difference of nearly a mile.
"That is my recollection of it," said Mr. Ford. "Owing to the death of the surveyor, and the destruction of some of his records, I was unable to prove it, though."
"Well, you can now," retorted Paddy, significantly.
Soon they heard the sound of axes and, in answer to a nod from Mr. Ford, the horses were turned in that direction.
Suddenly from behind a tree stepped the burly form of Hank Smither.
"You can't go any further!" he growled. "Turn back an' git off this land! You're trespassin'!"
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