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William Carlos Williams Group E E.E. Cummings
William Carlos Williams
Group E
E.E. Cummings
E.E. Cummings’ Biography
Edward Estlin Cummings was
born in Cambridge Massachusetts in
1894.
He is the author of over 2,900 poems and two
autobiographical novels.
Cummings is considered one of the
most influential American poets to
date.
Edward Estlin Cummings
collapsed from a cerebral
hemorrhage at his summer home in
Joy Farm
Photo by: http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/e__e__cummings/biography
The poem is industrially influenced in that Cummings
seems to be quite dismayed by all of the technological
advances that mankind has achieved. He seems to think
that humans are racing toward their own self-destruction
rather than simply appreciating all that nature has to offer.
“O Sweet Spontaneous”Photo by: http://crazysalad.typepad.com/crazysalad/photos/
“Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers Of”
This poem is directed toward a woman, Cummings is probably trying to say that love is a fleeting
emotion, but an important one. The poem is not particularly modern, other than the way that it is
written, and does not seem to have a clear industrial influence. The poem displays emotion over
reasoning and has a very sentimental view of love.Courtesy of: http://lovepoems.yu-hu.com/cummings/Thy_fingers_make_early_flowers.shtml
William Carlos Williams’ Biography
William Carlos Williams was born in Rutherford, New
Jersey, in 1883
Williams's health began to decline after a heart attack in 1948
and a series of strokes.
He continued writing up until his
death in New Jersey in 1963.
He received his M.D. from the University of Pennsylvania,
where he met and befriended Ezra
Pound.
Photo by: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2010/mar/08/poem-of-the-week-william-carlos-williams-red-wheelbarrow
“Saxifrage is my flower that splitsthe rocks.”
Courtesy of http://www.gardenaut.com/category/garden-design
“Put his head onOne chair and his
Feet on another andHe’ll lie there
Like an acrobat-”
Courtesy of http://nickandersonswebsite.com/girlthings.html
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Courtesy of: Harper’s Magazine
Portrait Of A LadyYour thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's slipper.
Agh! what sort of man was Fragonard? —As if that answered anything.—Ah, yes.
“The mother’s eyes where she sits by the window, unconsoled-"
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