nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

A beautiful young woman and terrific writer blogs here. It’s one of my favorite places to travel, read and be inspired by her sensitivity and honesty. Recently Jen of Awakenings wrote a post on poetry and her thoughts about it.

I have been reading tonight – the idiot box went off. Weeks ago I canceled my cable tv, as to pay over $50 a month struck me as obscene. Now I live with a single channel, I believe CBS. Never watch. The absurdity of how we live our lives struck me today, so many of us leading a dead existence in terms of our employment. We work until we are exhausted and come home to fall in front of the idiot box and entertain (?!!) ourselves with gruesome tales of child molestation, rape and murder. This relaxes us? People eating sheep’s eyeballs is enlightening and reduces our stress level — it makes sense of our lives.

No wonder we are all fucked up. I digress but I will never again do work I don’t enjoy and come home to watch people be raped and murdered all night. Seesh. So poetry – and how beautiful is this line…

“nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”

It is one of the most beautiful images in poetry in my opinion, a line from my favorite poem – spoken by a woman not inclined to have favorites.

But art – poetry, prose, music, paintings have that ability to enter my soul the smallest recesses and touch places I did not even realize were there. Until that moment when they enter, and I am made aware, I expand.

Art soothes my soul, it’s my life’s blood but has never been a life raft. I don’t want a life raft, I don’t want to be saved — I want to be shoved out into a vast ocean, to journey, to expand, grow and go to places I did not even realize existed, or how desperately I wanted or needed those places until I am there. I want to be made insecure and there I will find peace in that most intensely fragile place. Life break me open again, and again, again so that I may grow even more aware, blessed, grateful for this miracle called our lives.

My favorite poem by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you 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


4 Responses to “nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”

  1. Achingly perfectly beautiful. I read this to her last night..some lines more than once. Thank you.

    Thanks also for your kind words – you know the feeling is utterly and completely mutual.


  2. I am glad you have someone to read it to — I am just a wee bit envious.

    But I am getting closer I was in a roomful of great women last night.

    janet (tonight though I am out with the dogs – literally.)

  3. I have a confession to make. I was once in a bar and a woman picked me up with the line about not even the rain having such small hands. I thought she was incredibly attractive after that.

    A few years later, I ran across this poem and wanted to SMACK her for using e.e. to seduce me…and pretending his words were hers…

  4. Maria that is hysterical…I think I’d sleep with someone on the spot if they read me that poem.

    I met woman on-line she had a clever profile that impressed me, later after we were dating I “googled” some of the line. YEP a plagarist – she didn’t really last.

    I believe with her I was thinking with my eyes not my head.


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