Into the world of poetry if you will. This is about one of those retorts, the perfect answer you think of a day after it would have been perfect, only in this case it is 45 years.
Today on the drive for some reason I got to thinking about a poem by e.e. cummings that we read during a poetry class many years ago. It stuck with me, most likely because I understood it and was able to interpret it to the professor's satisfaction. I looked for it on the Internet today but couldn't find it, so here is my best estimation how it goes:
who,
at her nonself's unself
toothfully leering,
can this
platinum floozy
possibly begin
to imagine
she is
I suppose I could interpret properly, according to him anyway, because I had sat in places contemplating platinum floosies. And I always remembered the poem as a favorite, more perhaps because I did understand at least one e.e. cummings poem, than that I really liked it. Today I figured out what my response should have been. Not a college kid's eye view of a great poet, but in the voice of the platinum floozy herself. Like this:
she imagines her nonself a judgmental, elitist
poet who accepts
her role in life to judge and
criticize those who do not
meet her exacting intellectual
standards, but her unself
rejects that concept totally and
she returns to the comfort of
her ownself in
the mirror once more,
then turning coquettishly
to tell the poet,
"not with you,
not ever,
not in a million years."
As if to confirm the view now taken of this poem, I noticed on one of the e.e. cummings search pages I looked at, there was a notation that there are 6 Cummins diesel mechanics online. Wonder how the great poet would like being lumped in with those commoners. I bet one thing. They can take apart a diesel engine and put it back together and he couldn't. In the long run who contributes more to the general welfare, a guy who feels superior to a woman in a bar or a guy who keeps those trucks running that deliver our fresh groceries?
I really liked the article, and the very cool blog
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