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The Poetry of e.e. cummings The poems to come are for you and for me and are not for many people. - it is no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootofminusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs. Take the matter of being born. What exactly does being born imply to mostpeople? Catastrophe unmitigated. Socialrevolution. The cultured aristocrat yanked out of the hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous superpalazzo, and dumped into a remarkably vulgar detentioncamp swarming with every conceivable species of undesirable organism. Mostpeople fancy a guaranteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness. If mostpeople were to be born twice theyÍd improbably call it dying. You and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We're human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing:the mystery which happens only and if we are faithful to ourselves. You and I wear the dangerous looseness of despair and locate it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now;and today is much too busy being a little more than everything to look anything.catastrophic comprised (Cummings, 1935). So begins No Thanks, a book of poetry composed by the already well-established Edward Estlin Cummings. When most men and women think of poetry, certain vocabulary springs to mind. Imagery. Rhyme. Meter. Flow. Figurative language. When the poetry of E.E. Cummings is said, these stereotypical poetic methods are abandoned. Instead, the mind focuses on Cummings' technique of preventing procedure. The absence of capitalization and nonstandard punctuation probably begin the list of Cummings' nonrules from the minds of many. Regrettably, the knowledge of...