Edward Estlin Cummings (Эдвард Эстлин Каммингс)

* * *

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
—- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
                         A world of made
is not a world of born —- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if —- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go

1. the bigness of cannon
2. hist whist
3. what if a much of a which of a wind
4. Spring is like a perhaps hand
5. the boys i mean are not refined

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