Poems about Fathers (and Sons)


Today, the Academy of American Poets distributed the e. e. cummings poem “my father moved through dooms of love” as its poem-a-day daily e-mail.

Here are the opening stanzas of this poem, which becomes more comprehensible, I think, as we ourselves age, as our fathers pass away, and as they are available to us only through the prisms of our own remembering:

my father moved through dooms of love

through sames of am through haves of give,

singing each morning out of each night

my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where

turned at his glance to shining here;

that if (so timid air is firm)

under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which

floats the first who, his april touch

drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates

woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep

my father’s fingers…

View original post 394 more words


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: