If you want to see why, click here.
One recent Overgrown Path post really caught my eye: Eric Whitacre outsells Mozart
Lots of stuff about Mr Whitacre.
Apparently, he is quite famous.
I had never heard of him.
Which says something about me, I suppose.
Anyway, it's a good read.
Toward the end of Overgrown Path's post, there is a link to an mp3 download.
So, I downloaded.
Go down the path some more?
The CD is called Cloudburst.
It's on the UK's Hyperion label.
Fourteen poems set to music.
Choral works. Choral, works.
What works opens with a poem by E. E. Cummings.
It's E.E. Cummings, not ee cummings, nor e.e. cummings, by the way.
Don't believe me?
Brothers and sisters, see here: NOT "e.e. cummings"
Anyway, I recognized the title of the poem, and decided it deserved a public airing.
A websearch will easily find it, but Cummings was a stickler for typography and whatnot, and several versions out there in cyberspace (does anyone say "cyberspace" anymore?) are somewhat careless.
So. . . what follows is what I studiously transferred from my E. E. Cummings 100 Selected Poems (Grove Press edition).
i thank You God for most this amazingCool, eh?
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
My birthday is coming up soon. I may just very well treat myself.