Modern literature very much places the onus of interpretation on the reader; sometimes poems can be encypted, there to be solved like teasing crossword puzzles. More often however, the process of decoding a poem is simply an effort to assume the viewpoint of the poet. "SNOW" is a confusing poem to read because it doesn't 'read'; when held up against the orthodox poetic tradition, ee cummings' "SNOW" simply looks childish. Like "L(a" and "in Just-", the form of the poem reminds one of the illiterate scribbling of newly-learned letters written randomly in crayon on the page of a kintergarten scrap book. However, on closer inspection, there is balance within its disarrayed format. Whole words are hidden within the jumble; they shine like beacons on a dark runway: they are not to be treated as keys to a secret door, but nevertheless something tangible to cling on to amid initial confusion: cruising, whisper, fully, FLUTTER, FULLY, IF, end, begin, design, tangle, spangle, Come, go, CRINGE, WITH, lilt, of, BIRDS, BECAUSE, AGAIN, mark, able, from, no, into, where, find, are, GLIB, SCARCELY, AMONG, FLOWERING are the words that can be picked out whole from the poem. If we are to work off concepts and imagery (to deduce an ‘argument’ put forward by the poem at this stage would be premature), already antitheses present themselves. The apposition of “end” and “begin” (in that order, a reversed chronology), the contradiction of come and go, fully (twice) and scarcely, the incongruity of birds, flowering, fluttering and lilting in a poem entitled “snow”.
These contradictions create another level of confusion; the poet is not lost, but acutely aware that these opposing forces exist, that they ArE. The broken images of the poem suggest a bewildered author who is unable to decide which end of the spectrum to “mark” himself, if indeed one’s self is actually “markable” on a graph: his poem is itself fluttering between two antipodes. The form of the poem is reminiscent with falling snowflakes in Winter; each one is different in the same way that the layout of the words within the lines appears unique. The tone of the poem is more summary and “flowering.” I am content to draw a conclusion of lack of identity from the conflicts within the poem, but to picture a scene flowering winter wonderland is odd. I will admit that e.e.cummings might be pointing towards the fertility of his imagination in Winter, but I like the idea that the poem is not just about SNOW, but about NOW. If ‘read’ with the poet’s (or anyone’s) transience in mind, sense can be gained from the poem as opposed to Boggle-esque word-spotting. We start off with the relaxed image of “cruising”. The pace is slow, and the word is spread over three lines. The mood descends to a rapid awareness of cyclical liminality. As soon as something finishes, something else is designed and begun straight away (hence the enjambed “end begi n”). The poet is repressed – the hidden “w Hi/sper” of the first ‘stanza’ is reaffirmed by the “s)h” of the last- from start to finish, yet he still manages to get to the end, still manages to put his thoughts down on paper, even if he hasn’t the courage to spell it out for everyone to read. Yet it can be heard; by reading the poem aloud, the apposition between gargle and fully formed words is audible. The Poet leaves us with an un-fully formed array of sentiments so dense that it flowers individually within the consciousness of its reader.
2005-12-03
Added by: charlie
Modern literature very much places the onus of interpretation on the reader; sometimes poems can be encypted, there to be solved like teasing crossword puzzles. More often however, the process of decoding a poem is simply an effort to assume the viewpoint of the poet. "SNOW" is a confusing poem to read because it doesn't 'read'; when held up against the orthodox poetic tradition, ee cummings' "SNOW" simply looks childish. Like "L(a" and "in Just-", the form of the poem reminds one of the illiterate scribbling of newly-learned letters written randomly in crayon on the page of a kintergarten scrap book. However, on closer inspection, there is balance within its disarrayed format. Whole words are hidden within the jumble; they shine like beacons on a dark runway: they are not to be treated as keys to a secret door, but nevertheless something tangible to cling on to amid initial confusion: cruising, whisper, fully, FLUTTER, FULLY, IF, end, begin, design, tangle, spangle, Come, go, CRINGE, WITH, lilt, of, BIRDS, BECAUSE, AGAIN, mark, able, from, no, into, where, find, are, GLIB, SCARCELY, AMONG, FLOWERING are the words that can be picked out whole from the poem. If we are to work off concepts and imagery (to deduce an ‘argument’ put forward by the poem at this stage would be premature), already antitheses present themselves. The apposition of “end” and “begin” (in that order, a reversed chronology), the contradiction of come and go, fully (twice) and scarcely, the incongruity of birds, flowering, fluttering and lilting in a poem entitled “snow”.
These contradictions create another level of confusion; the poet is not lost, but acutely aware that these opposing forces exist, that they ArE. The broken images of the poem suggest a bewildered author who is unable to decide which end of the spectrum to “mark” himself, if indeed one’s self is actually “markable” on a graph: his poem is itself fluttering between two antipodes. The form of the poem is reminiscent with falling snowflakes in Winter; each one is different in the same way that the layout of the words within the lines appears unique. The tone of the poem is more summary and “flowering.” I am content to draw a conclusion of lack of identity from the conflicts within the poem, but to picture a scene flowering winter wonderland is odd. I will admit that e.e.cummings might be pointing towards the fertility of his imagination in Winter, but I like the idea that the poem is not just about SNOW, but about NOW. If ‘read’ with the poet’s (or anyone’s) transience in mind, sense can be gained from the poem as opposed to Boggle-esque word-spotting. We start off with the relaxed image of “cruising”. The pace is slow, and the word is spread over three lines. The mood descends to a rapid awareness of cyclical liminality. As soon as something finishes, something else is designed and begun straight away (hence the enjambed “end begi n”). The poet is repressed – the hidden “w Hi/sper” of the first ‘stanza’ is reaffirmed by the “s)h” of the last- from start to finish, yet he still manages to get to the end, still manages to put his thoughts down on paper, even if he hasn’t the courage to spell it out for everyone to read. Yet it can be heard; by reading the poem aloud, the apposition between gargle and fully formed words is audible. The Poet leaves us with an un-fully formed array of sentiments so dense that it flowers individually within the consciousness of its reader.
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These contradictions create another level of confusion; the poet is not lost, but acutely aware that these opposing forces exist, that they ArE. The broken images of the poem suggest a bewildered author who is unable to decide which end of the spectrum to “mark” himself, if indeed one’s self is actually “markable” on a graph: his poem is itself fluttering between two antipodes. The form of the poem is reminiscent with falling snowflakes in Winter; each one is different in the same way that the layout of the words within the lines appears unique. The tone of the poem is more summary and “flowering.” I am content to draw a conclusion of lack of identity from the conflicts within the poem, but to picture a scene flowering winter wonderland is odd. I will admit that e.e.cummings might be pointing towards the fertility of his imagination in Winter, but I like the idea that the poem is not just about SNOW, but about NOW. If ‘read’ with the poet’s (or anyone’s) transience in mind, sense can be gained from the poem as opposed to Boggle-esque word-spotting. We start off with the relaxed image of “cruising”. The pace is slow, and the word is spread over three lines. The mood descends to a rapid awareness of cyclical liminality. As soon as something finishes, something else is designed and begun straight away (hence the enjambed “end begi n”). The poet is repressed – the hidden “w Hi/sper” of the first ‘stanza’ is reaffirmed by the “s)h” of the last- from start to finish, yet he still manages to get to the end, still manages to put his thoughts down on paper, even if he hasn’t the courage to spell it out for everyone to read. Yet it can be heard; by reading the poem aloud, the apposition between gargle and fully formed words is audible. The Poet leaves us with an un-fully formed array of sentiments so dense that it flowers individually within the consciousness of its reader.