Oh, No, Now It's Poetry! LOL!

[in Just-]
BY 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

*********************************************************************

As I was driving southward on the freeway Saturday's early evening, I was thinking on that strange little flick of memory's tail that hits at the oddest times. A sweet and wistful almost there sense of something long-long gone, and not being able to call it back, but just remembering a taste on the mind and sometimes the sting of unbidden tears.  Then there can be grief also.  I am glad He keeps our tears.

Psalm 56:8

8 You number my wanderings;

Put my tears into Your bottle;

Are they not in Your book?

I am not up on official interpretation of this old poem , but it struck me that those little old memories whistle far and wee. Perhaps I could call them the little old balloon man, for they are mythical and enigmatic.

It had been on my mind since first encountering this poem long ago, who or what the balloonman represented to cummings.  Oh I suppose he could also represent the natural forces of life, but no need to pin it down so tightly.

e.e. himself.  No accounting for poets! Especially official poets.

Not of this world.