as freedom is a breakfastfood

by e. e. cummings

E.E. Cummings dressed in his First World War military

uniform. WWI was far more psychologically damaging

than the Second World War or, arguably, any other war since

because it was fought in packed trenches with little to no territorial

gains or losses as a result of the introduction of machine guns

and the blatant, constant use of chemical weapons, specifically

mustard gas. Near the end of the war, roaring, mammoth-like

tanks appeared on the battlefields, steamrolling barbwire

and plowing over trenches.  Even though the weaponry
mounted on the original tanks wasn't very effective,
the psychological effect upon morale was significant
in virtue of the loud rumble of their engines, their
seeming disregard for infantry fire, not to mention their
sheer size and the fact that most had never seen one before.
With enemy infantry charging behind the tanks, shielded,
the ensuing disarray was often enough to lead to an onslaught.
The nickname The War to End All Wars owes its existence
to the inhumane gruesomeness of the conflict.  In the end,
however, WWI wasn't won via territorial gains, but rather
by a flanking strategy that successfully cut-off the supply lines
pivotal to the survival of frontline troops of Germany and
the Austria-Hungary Empire.  Edward Estlin Cummings'
palpable zest and love of life is the result of having experienced
one of the most terrifying chapters in human history.  For more
information on the Era and its impact on Cumming's poetry,
read "since feeling is first" and the accompanying essay.

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
—long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
—long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
—long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
—time is a tree(this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough





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For a review of the background to the life, poetic style, and historical context that shaped E. E. Cummings' exceptional body of work, please read the brief essay immediately after the following poem—

•  "since feeling is first"

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You may also enjoy these other poems by Edward Estlin Cummings:

• "now does our world descend"

• "if you like my poems"

• "love is more thicker than forget"

Myth, by Natasha Trethewey

Copyright © 2007 by Natasha Trethewey, who was twice named Poet Laureate of the United States of America, serving that duty from 2012 to 2014.  She currently serves as the Poet Laureate of Mississippi.

Myth appears in Native Guard (Mariner Books of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2007), book for which she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 2007 .

Photograph by Jalissa Gray - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15244260

Myth

I was asleep while you were dying.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,

the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking

you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.

*

Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.

But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in—still, trying—

I make between my slumber and my waking.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.



From a 2007 Panhandler Magazine interview from the University of West Florida, Natasha Trethewey candidly states "I am deeply interested in the experience of other human beings, no matter how small or seemingly trivial it is." I wholeheartedly share this sentiment. Note the use of the adjective seemingly modifying trivial. Often enough, human beings trivialize the most important matters and elevate in importance the most irrelevant and trivial of issues. If only people were paying attention, like she is!

"Invictus: The Unconquerable" by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
     Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
     For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
     I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
     My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
     Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
     Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
     How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
     I am the captain of my soul.

The Traveler's Curse after Misdirection, by Robert Graves

May they stumble, stage by stage
On an endless Pilgrimage
Dawn and dusk, mile after mile
At each and every step a stile
At each and every step withal
May they catch their feet and fall
At each and every fall they take
May a bone within them break
And may the bone that breaks within
Not be, for variations sake
Now rib, now thigh, now arm, now shin
but always, without fail, the NECK

The transmutation of the human spirit, by Friedrich Nietzsche

From Thus Spake Zarathustra, "The Three Metamorphoses"

Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit
becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.

Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing
spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest
longeth its strength.

What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down
like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.

What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit,
that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.

Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one's pride? To
exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom?

Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph? To
ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?

Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the
sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?

Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of
the deaf, who never hear thy requests?

Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and
not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?

Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one's hand to the
phantom when it is going to frighten us?

All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself:
and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so
hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.

But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here
the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
own wilderness.

Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its
last God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.

What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call
Lord and God? "Thou-shalt," is the great dragon called. But the spirit
of the lion saith, "I will."

"Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with gold--a scale-covered
beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, "Thou shalt!"

The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and
thus speaketh the mightiest of all dragons: "All the values of
things--glitter on me.

All values have already been created, and all created values--do I
represent. Verily, there shall be no 'I will' any more. Thus speaketh
the dragon.

My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why
sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?

To create new values--that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to
create itself freedom for new creating--that can the might of the lion
do.

To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that,
my brethren, there is need of the lion.

To assume the right to new values--that is the most formidable
assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a
spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.

As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt": now is it forced to find
illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may
capture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.

But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion
could not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?

Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a
self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.

Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea
unto life: ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth
the world's outcast.

Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the
spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.--

Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is
called The Pied Cow.

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Ressentiment in the Present Age, by Søren Kierkegaard