Chaos.

In my head and in my mind and all around me today. Apparently, we're in the mood to move books around and get rid of stuff from the lab for the big move-out that's looming at the end of August. Today is also the day I plan to finish the results section of my thesis. This has proved difficult for two reasons. First, the crashing people all around me and secondly, the fact that along the way some of my data managed to mix itself up. There was an inconsistent dip in evenness amongst my seed plots and I'd been meaning to investigate the reason for this for months. Finally I got around to it today and realized that I had cut and pasted the first five columns of data in survey 3 incorrectly. Thus the dip and an entire day spent rearranging graphs. This has created the chaos in my mind. The chaos in my head has to do with the weather and the unbelievable amount of static electricity my hair is capable of holding onto. It's driving me nuts, to say the least.

I've decided to come here to escape from all of this hectic energy and create a post about why I admire e.e. cummings so much. I mentioned him in the previous post about poetry and was thinking about my appreciation for his work last night before I fell asleep. In my Grade 12 English class we had to make a presentation about all different aspects of a poem we had selected to study. (Strange how you can remember some projects and things so vividly). I picked a favourite of mine: anyone lived in a pretty how town, by e.e. cummings, of course. I knew that I enjoyed reading his poetry because of the images it conveyed, but I had put little thought into the meanings and symbolism of his work, or the impact his life had on the things he wrote.



I put a lot of effort into that project. I can remember sitting in my seat in the middle of the bus, scrunched up with my knees pushed into the back of the seat ahead of me, reading everything I could find in the library about e.e. cummings and his work. I managed to deconstruct his poem, probably deliver one of the better talks of my highschool career, and come out the other side wanting to know more. Usually, this was not the case for me and as soon as I finished a project I attempted to delete the unnecessary information from my brain. The difference this time was just that he defied every rule he came across, grammar and punctuation, the English language. The characters in his poems were outcasts but they did whatever they wanted to do. His style was dark, but pretty at the same time.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain