Dear e. e. cummings,

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

That was a poem you wrote one time, about the giddiness that the very beginning of spring induces, but also about the way children lose their innocence and the way that childlike glee reminds us of the distance between those feelings and the feelings of being grown up.

It has recently turned from winter to Just-spring, here in Iowa. The sun seems to have remembered that sometimes, Iowa is worth shining on full blast. Much of the snow has melted, and the grass has started to look green again. It's been warm enough to leave your coat at home, and the frost has come up out of the ground. (By the way, frost coming up out of the ground is a great metaphor waiting to happen.) The world here has become mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.


I've been thinking about your poem all week, ever since the sun came out. Part of the magic is in taking the defining physical features of Just-spring (mud and puddles) and attaching them to subjective words that elicit the perfect connotation. Part of it is in attaching Just-spring to the excitement of children playing. That's effective not because children play the games you described in Just-spring more than in any other time, but because it connects the feelings the reader remembers from those games with the feelings the reader associates with Just-spring. Part of it is in calling Just-spring its own distinct phenomenon, different from regular spring as it is from regular winter.


But what gives this poem dimension is placing Just-spring up against Pan, the balloonman. The motion you've given the children is held in contrast by the static action of the balloonman. All he does is whistle far and wee. Nothing has really changed in the coming of Just-spring.


The thing about Just-spring is that it's temporary. Already, the temperature has begun to drop, and it's supposed to snow on Monday. There are several weeks that will look as much like winter as spring between here and the straightaway to summer. I know when you wrote "in Just-" in the first line, you meant it like one word, "injust", and that you meant it to reflect that it's unfair that children have to grow up; but your poem belongs to its readers now, and I think it's injust that just-spring doesn't last.


Thanks for your beautiful contribution to literature; the western world and I are in your debt. If there's anything we can do for you in return (outside of reading, teaching, and loving your poetry) don't hesitate to let us know.


Sincerely,
Claire