E. E. Cummings → Ε.Ε. Κάμινγκς, Ε.Ε. Κάμμινγκς

[Frederique]

Edward Estlin Cummings (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962), popularly known as E. E. Cummings, with the abbreviated form of his name often written by others in lowercase letters as e.e. cummings (in the style of some of his poems), was an American poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. His body of work encompasses approximately 2,900 poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays and several essays, as well as numerous drawings and paintings. He is remembered as a preeminent voice of 20th century poetry, as well as one of the most popular.


E. E. Cummings in 1953

Poems published in Translatum
— E. E. Cummings, [μόνο με την άνοιξη] 44 ποιήματα
— because i love you) last night
— being to timelessness as it's to time
— I
— i carry your heart with me
— i like my body when it is with your body
— love is a place
— since feeling is first
— You Are Tired (I Think)
— ygUDuh

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World poetry translated into Greek

[crystal]

". . . Cummings seems to have invented himself out of a set of choice influences: the Greek lyric, the comic strip Krazy Kat, Don Marquis, Pound's array of resurrected Provencal, Italian, Greek, and even Chinese lyricists, some modern French poets (Apollinaire, Mallarme), and his temperamental disposition to love and hate the world (odi et amo ), the ambiguous and versatile stance of the satiric poet down through western tradition, from Archilochus through Catullus to Villon, and in folk tradition from Aesop to Joel Chandler Harris. Add one more element, and we have Cummings' worktable before us. Add the mimiambus , or mime for a single actor taking various roles. This is the tradition in which Cummings did some of his finest work. In 'ygUDuh / ydoan / yunnuhstan . . .' he is miming a New Yorker at a bar giving his opinion of why the Second World War is being fought. . . . I would put this gift for mimicry as the bedrock of Cummings' talent. When he strayed from it (into Swinburne and Rossetti), he was weak; when he exercised it with malicious wit, he was strong."
--Guy Davenport, "Transcendental Satyr" in   Every Force Evolves a Form (San Francisco, 1987)
Homepages at WMU

Περίτρανη απόδειξη της αξίας του ήχου μέσα στα ποιήματα (ακόμη κι αν δεν έχει καν τη μορφή κανονικών λέξεων).

ygUDuh
 
      yguDuh
      ydoan
      yunnuhstan
      ydoan o
      yunnuhstand dem
      yguduh ged
            yunnuhstan dem doidee
      yguduh ged riduh
      ydoan o nudn
LISN bud LISN
           dem
           gud
           am
           lidl yelluh bas
           tuds weer goin
duhSIVILEYEzum

[crystal]

E. E. Cummings, You Are Tired (I Think)

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

[spiros]

E. E. Cummings, love is a place

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

[crystal]

E. E. Cummings, because i love you) last night

because i love you) last night

clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and (before my
eyes sinking) inward,fled; softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death: drowned only

again carefully through deepness to rise
these your wrists
thighs feet hands

poising
to again utterly disappear;
rushing gently swiftly creeping
through my dreams last
night, all of your
body with its spirit floated
(clothed only in

the tide's acute weaving murmur

[crystal]

E. E. Cummings, i carry your heart with me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKzl5lN5Rl4

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

[crystal]

E. E. Cummings, i like my body when it is with your

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yca8sLX0u4c

i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill of under me you quite so new

μου αρέσει το σώμα μου όταν είναι με το σώμα σου. Τόσο που είναι φρέσκο αυτό το πράγμα. Μύες καλύτεροι, νευρώνες περισσότεροι. μου αρέσει το σώμα σου. μου αρέσει αυτό που κάνει, μου αρέσουν τα πώς του. μου αρέσει απ’ το σώμα σου να νιώθω τη σπονδυλική στήλη και κόκαλα, και την τρεμουλιαστή κρουστο-απαλό τητά του και που εγώ θα το ξανά και ξανά και ξανά φιλήσω, μου αρέσει να φιλώ αυτό κι εκείνο σου, μου αρέσει, αργά να χαϊδεύω το, χνούδι φουντωτό το γουνάκι ηλεκτρισμένο σου, και τι-ν’-αυτό που βγαίνει από τη χωρισμένη σάρκα … Και μάτια μεγάλα ερωτο-ψίχουλα, και ίσως μου αρέσει το ρίγος του από κάτω μου εσύ τόσο, που, αλήθεια, φρέσκο πόσο

ε.ε. κάμινγκς, από το [μόνο με την άνοιξη] 44 ποιήματα, μτφρ. Βασίλης Αμανατίδης, εκδ. Νεφέλη

[spiros]

in spite of everything which breathes and moves, since Doom (with white longest hands neatening each crease) will smooth entirely our minds -before leaving my room i turn,and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow,dear where our heads lived and were.

σε πείσμα του οτιδήποτε αναπνέει και κινείται, μια κι ο Θάνατος (με χέρια λευκά μακρύτατα που στρώνουν κάθε ζάρα) ολοσχερώς θα λειάνει τον νου μας -πριν βγω απ' την κάμαρά μου γυρνώ, και(γέρνοντας μες στο πρωινό)φιλάω, το μαξιλάρι αυτό, αγάπη μου, όπου τα κεφάλια μας ζούσαν και ήταν.

ε.ε. κάμινγκς, από το [μόνο με την άνοιξη] 44 ποιήματα, μτφρ. Βασίλης Αμανατίδης, εκδ. Νεφέλη

[spiros]

in time of daffodils E.E. Cummings in time of daffodils(who know the goal of living is to grow) forgetting why,remember how in time of lilacs who proclaim the aim of waking is to dream, remember so(forgetting seem) in time of roses(who amaze our now and here with paradise) forgetting if,remember yes in time of all sweet things beyond whatever mind may comprehend, remember seek(forgetting find) and in a mystery to be (when time from time shall set us free) forgetting me,remember me

Στον χρόνο των ασφόδελων Ε. Ε. Κάμινγκς Στον χρόνο των ασφοδέλων (που γνωρίζουν Ότι σκοπός της ύπαρξης είναι το να μεγαλώνουμε) Ξεχνώντας το γιατί, ενθυμούμενοι το πώς Στον χρόνο των πασχαλιών που κηρύττουν Ότι ο σκοπός του να ξυπνάς το πρωί είναι για να ονειρεύεσαι, Ενθυμούμενες κι αυτές (κι ας μοιάζουν να ξεχνάνε) Στον χρόνο των τριαντάφυλλων (που σαγηνεύουν Το εδώ και τώρα με παράδεισο) αν, η λήθη, ναι, η μνήμη Στον χρόνο πέρα από όλα τα όμορφα πράγματα Σε οτιδήποτε ο νους μπορεί να αντιληφθεί, Θυμήσου ό,τι πρέπει να ψάχνεις (και ξέχασε ό,τι πρέπει να βρεις) Και στο μυστήριο της ύπαρξης (όταν ο χρόνος μας απελευθερώσει από τον χρόνο) Ξεχνώντας με, θα με θυμηθεί

Μετάφραση: άγνωστος