Full Moon Musings: On Reading E.E.Cummings. {poetry}

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are,” said a really great mind long long time ago.

In most intimate moments, I hear poetry inside my head. I guess I am not extrovert enough to read it aloud, feeling that it is somehow awkward (like my little introverted psychedelic mind). But I know, I can feel it, that I am not alone. There are others exactly like me, somewhat maladjusted, who know things others don’t.

Those are the ones worth writing for.

Those are the ones worth sharing the understanding with.

We are like little crabs, getting out of our shells carefully, with one leg stretched out and the other firmly stuck inside, just in case.

And occasionally we get carried away by ourselves without fear.

It is only then that most profoundly beautiful poetry comes out.

And upon checking the logic in it, these verses pop up:

“(I do not know what it is about it that closes

 and opens; only something in me understands

 the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands).”


I love him so 
so so so much
and poetry… the most wonderful hiding place…
i hate it when life pushes me too far away from it
(i stole your i-s, master, and the music behind)
but the world has lost its ears 
and lost its eyes 
to the beautiful sounds behind beautiful words; 
it exalts on poor sounds behind poor words: 
politics, disaster, war 
… oblivion…
i make wishes and throw them in the sky
enchant them with poetry of most profound kind —
truths spoken from the heart — simple wisdom(s), 
the meaning of life 
magic produced by virtuous minds 
of poets from another time 
forever living deep in the night, 
as i talk again to la luna divajn
out in the open!:

(this full moon i stand and shout mentally aloud): 
“i thank You, God, for most this amazing
day; for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings, and of the gay
great happening illimitable earth)
how should tasting, touching, hearing, seeing,
breathing, any — lifted from the no
of all nothing — human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)”
and suddenly i remember how 
i used to kiss the moon, 
kiss the moon… 
and it used to kiss me back, 
kiss me back…
humming to me softly, softly so i can never forget: 
you are one true lunatic, one genuine, forever lost, terrible and lovely moon-child
with no sense of reality, with never-ending dreams instead 
scattered all over the velvet skies above
(like kisses)…


Viola Damjanovski is from Skopje, Macedonia. She writes and translates poetry and short stories, and loves the avant-garde and unordinary. While she was young, Viola used to sing in a goth-psychedelic band (part of the bands consisting the first Macedonian Rock Encyclopedia). She has published short stories and poetry online under a pseudonym, and loves words, music, paintings, and everything out of the ordinary.


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