I brought this book home from the library. It's a children's book, but that's OK. I have a child's heart.
It was about e.e. cummings. Really, I knew little of him except that he says that the world "is puddle-wonderful" in one of my favorite poems. But nothing about him as a writer.
The illustrations were so sweet.
They made me want to keep a little book of drawings. And write. Not stories, just tiny sentences next to tiny drawings.
I read and read and thought about how often I say no. No don't write that, it's silly. No you can't try that, you might fail. He wrote in an upstairs apartment in Greenwich Village where he could look out and see the sky. He liked how words sounded. He liked how they looked and he drew poems using typed words.
I'd like to do that: draw poems.
I would like to start saying yes to all the things I love.
e.e. wrote this poem:
who are you,little i
(five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of November sunset
(and feeling:that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)