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One Times One
A paperback collection newly offset from Complete Poems 1904-1962 with an afterword by the Cummings scholar George James Firmage. Cummings's ninth book of poems, One Times One , was first published in 1944. The poems in One Times One have as their theme "oneness and the means (one times one) whereby that oneness is achieved―love," in the words of Cummings's biographer Richard S. Kennedy. Besides new expressions of universal concerns, Cummings writes here in a lyric and optimistic mode, drawing portraits of people dear to him in New Hampshire and New York City's Greenwich Village. This new edition joins other individual uniform Liveright paperback volumes drawn from the Complete Poems , most recently Etcetera and 22 and 50 Poems .
70 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1944
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About the author
E.E. Cummings
369 books3,951 followersEdward Estlin Cummings was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on October 14, 1894. He began writing poems as early as 1904 and studied Latin and Greek at the Cambridge Latin High School.
He received his BA in 1915 and his MA in 1916, both from Harvard University. His studies there introduced him to the poetry of avant-garde writers, such as Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound.
In 1917, Cummings published an early selection of poems in the anthology Eight Harvard Poets. The same year, Cummings left the United States for France as a volunteer ambulance driver in World War I. Five months after his assignment, however, he and a friend were interned in a prison camp by the French authorities on suspicion of espionage (an experience recounted in his novel, The Enormous Room) for his outspoken anti-war convictions.
After the war, he settled into a life divided between houses in rural Connecticut and Greenwich Village, with frequent visits to Paris. He also traveled throughout Europe, meeting poets and artists, including Pablo Picasso, whose work he particularly admired.
In 1920, The Dial published seven poems by Cummings, including "Buffalo Bill ’s.” Serving as Cummings’ debut to a wider American audience, these “experiments” foreshadowed the synthetic cubist strategy Cummings would explore in the next few years.
In his work, Cummings experimented radically with form, punctuation, spelling, and syntax, abandoning traditional techniques and structures to create a new, highly idiosyncratic means of poetic expression. Later in his career, he was often criticized for settling into his signature style and not pressing his work toward further evolution. Nevertheless, he attained great popularity, especially among young readers, for the simplicity of his language, his playful mode and his attention to subjects such as war and sex.
The poet and critic Randall Jarrell once noted that Cummings is “one of the most individual poets who ever lived—and, though it sometimes seems so, it is not just his vices and exaggerations, the defects of his qualities, that make a writer popular. But, primarily, Mr. Cummings’s poems are loved because they are full of sentimentally, of sex, of more or less improper jokes, of elementary lyric insistence.”
During his lifetime, Cummings received a number of honors, including an Academy of American Poets Fellowship, two Guggenheim Fellowships, the Charles Eliot Norton Professorship at Harvard, the Bollingen Prize in Poetry in 1958, and a Ford Foundation grant.
At the time of his death, September 3, 1962, he was the second most widely read poet in the United States, after Robert Frost. He is buried in Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston, Massachusetts.
source: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/e-...
He received his BA in 1915 and his MA in 1916, both from Harvard University. His studies there introduced him to the poetry of avant-garde writers, such as Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound.
In 1917, Cummings published an early selection of poems in the anthology Eight Harvard Poets. The same year, Cummings left the United States for France as a volunteer ambulance driver in World War I. Five months after his assignment, however, he and a friend were interned in a prison camp by the French authorities on suspicion of espionage (an experience recounted in his novel, The Enormous Room) for his outspoken anti-war convictions.
After the war, he settled into a life divided between houses in rural Connecticut and Greenwich Village, with frequent visits to Paris. He also traveled throughout Europe, meeting poets and artists, including Pablo Picasso, whose work he particularly admired.
In 1920, The Dial published seven poems by Cummings, including "Buffalo Bill ’s.” Serving as Cummings’ debut to a wider American audience, these “experiments” foreshadowed the synthetic cubist strategy Cummings would explore in the next few years.
In his work, Cummings experimented radically with form, punctuation, spelling, and syntax, abandoning traditional techniques and structures to create a new, highly idiosyncratic means of poetic expression. Later in his career, he was often criticized for settling into his signature style and not pressing his work toward further evolution. Nevertheless, he attained great popularity, especially among young readers, for the simplicity of his language, his playful mode and his attention to subjects such as war and sex.
The poet and critic Randall Jarrell once noted that Cummings is “one of the most individual poets who ever lived—and, though it sometimes seems so, it is not just his vices and exaggerations, the defects of his qualities, that make a writer popular. But, primarily, Mr. Cummings’s poems are loved because they are full of sentimentally, of sex, of more or less improper jokes, of elementary lyric insistence.”
During his lifetime, Cummings received a number of honors, including an Academy of American Poets Fellowship, two Guggenheim Fellowships, the Charles Eliot Norton Professorship at Harvard, the Bollingen Prize in Poetry in 1958, and a Ford Foundation grant.
At the time of his death, September 3, 1962, he was the second most widely read poet in the United States, after Robert Frost. He is buried in Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston, Massachusetts.
source: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/e-...
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
February 7, 2017
a politician is an arse upon
which everyone has sat except a man.
E.E. Cummings, 1 x 1, "X"
Review these poems will
come tomorrow if, for
now cross-eye faced to
warm bed unmade with
benadryl+vicodin+and
duct tape (to increase
my chances thru 5+ hours)
shut I with a desperate
hope for rest (not eternal).
So heart keep beating find,
& lungs breathe God's 1st favor,
until and headaches blind
release me on good behavior.
Favorite Poem from this book:
XXXIX
all ignorance toboggans into know
and trudges up to ignorance again:
but winter’s not forever, even snow
melts; and if spring should spoil the game, what then?
all history’s a winter sport or three:
but were it five, i’d still insist that all
history is too small for even me;
for me and you, exceedingly too small.
Swoop (shrill collective myth) into thy grave
merely to toil the scale to shrillerness
per every madge and mabel dick and dave
–tomorrow is our permanent address
and there they’ll scarcely find us (if they do,
we’ll move away still further into now
which everyone has sat except a man.
E.E. Cummings, 1 x 1, "X"
Review these poems will
come tomorrow if, for
now cross-eye faced to
warm bed unmade with
benadryl+vicodin+and
duct tape (to increase
my chances thru 5+ hours)
shut I with a desperate
hope for rest (not eternal).
So heart keep beating find,
& lungs breathe God's 1st favor,
until and headaches blind
release me on good behavior.
Favorite Poem from this book:
XXXIX
all ignorance toboggans into know
and trudges up to ignorance again:
but winter’s not forever, even snow
melts; and if spring should spoil the game, what then?
all history’s a winter sport or three:
but were it five, i’d still insist that all
history is too small for even me;
for me and you, exceedingly too small.
Swoop (shrill collective myth) into thy grave
merely to toil the scale to shrillerness
per every madge and mabel dick and dave
–tomorrow is our permanent address
and there they’ll scarcely find us (if they do,
we’ll move away still further into now
January 11, 2016
Love; deconstructed.
With his uncompromising lyrical manipulation of language (and distinctly non-language), Cummings cleverly evokes childhood, innocence, spring, each with the diligence prescribed by concept and the simplicity echoed by thought. Each word, each punctuation, each empty space and occupied space, unite to demonstrate the intricacy of the mind, the passion of oneness. And beyond his ability to mimic the mind and the emotions, Cummings uses language to paint the paradox of 'what is language?' as only language can.
A masterwork of love poetry -- and of love, and of poetry.
With his uncompromising lyrical manipulation of language (and distinctly non-language), Cummings cleverly evokes childhood, innocence, spring, each with the diligence prescribed by concept and the simplicity echoed by thought. Each word, each punctuation, each empty space and occupied space, unite to demonstrate the intricacy of the mind, the passion of oneness. And beyond his ability to mimic the mind and the emotions, Cummings uses language to paint the paradox of 'what is language?' as only language can.
A masterwork of love poetry -- and of love, and of poetry.
December 10, 2017
[...]
what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't:blow death to was)
—all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die,the more we live
what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't:blow death to was)
—all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die,the more we live
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 14, 2019
Cummings uses experimental modernism to revisit romantic topics. The sections are on universality, love, nature. Top tips: XIV, XXIV, XXXIX.
March 3, 2023
I'm not really a poetry person, but I thought this was a delightful little book. It's filled with memorable lines and relatable themes. Nothing in here is generic or pretentious, just beautifully written thoughts. My main issue with it (and most poetry) is I'm not a fan of the unorthodox format of some poems. I don't like sentences or words split into multiple lines or the excessive use of paratheses, it kind of takes me out of it. All in all the main content of the book was well-written and witty. I'm not a poetry person, but quality is quality.
March 19, 2015
Favorites:
pity this busy monster,manunkind,
(once like a spark)
if strangers meet
let it go- the smashed word broken
i've come to ask you if there isn't a
nothing false and possible is love
except in your honour, my loveliest,
we love each other very dearly ,more
if everything happens that can't be done
pity this busy monster,manunkind,
(once like a spark)
if strangers meet
let it go- the smashed word broken
i've come to ask you if there isn't a
nothing false and possible is love
except in your honour, my loveliest,
we love each other very dearly ,more
if everything happens that can't be done
January 19, 2022
we're anything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one
- LIV (pg. 57)
Numbers play a prominent role in Cummings's poetry. Forgoing the naming of his poems, Cummings's poems are generally numbered (with few exceptions). His later collections and selections likewise forego the formality of a title, instead named for the number of poems between the covers ( 50 Poems , 73 Poems , 95 Poems ).
Not surprisingly, numbers again play a prominent role in 1 x 1 [One Times One], but perhaps more so than in any previous collection - both in the aforementioned and in the incorporation of numbers into various poems...
one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating,shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth - beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find
- XVI (pg. 16)
dead every enormous piece
of nonsense which itself must call
a state submicroscopic is -
compared with pitying terrible
some alive individual
ten centuries of original soon
or make it ten times ten are more
than not entitled to complain
- plunged in eternal now if who're
by the five nevers of a lear
- XXI (pg. 21)
so isn't small one littlest why,
it into if shall climb all the
blue heaven green earth neither sea
here's more than room for three of me
and only while your sweet eyes close
have disappeared a million whys
but opening is are those eyes
every because is murdered twice
- XLVIII (pg. 50)
My favourite poems, as always, are those in which Cummings fragments words and sentences, or otherwise deranges his words and sentences to the point of being unrecognizable. This is Cummings at his most experimental...
ygUDuh
ydoan
yunnuhstan
ydoan o
yunnuhstan dem
yguduh ged
tunnuhstan dem doidee
yguduh ged riduh
ydoan o nudn
LISN bud LISN
dem
gud
am
lidl yellud bas
tuds wweer goin
duhSIVILEYEzum
- VII (pg. 7)
a-
float on some
?
i call twilight you
'll see
an in
-ch
of an if
&
who
is
the
)
more
dream than become
more
am than imagine
- XXXI (pg. 32)
how
tinily
of
squir(two be
tween sto
nes)ming a gr
eenes
t you b
ecome
s whi
(mysterious
ly)te
one
t
hou
- XLI (pg. 43)
October 12, 2024
Poëzie die nog maar weinig prikkelt. Gedichten gaan over de 'oneness' en Cummings dweept veel met het woord 'love'. Die liefde zou heel groot zijn maar concreet wordt het niet. Dat is jammer, omdat het simpeler is een gevoel uit te vergroten en die grootsheid op te hemelen in plaats van de alledaagse vorm of substantie te beschrijven. Enkele samentrekkingen of metaforen zijn nog steeds erg beeldend. Mijn favoriete gedichten waren die over de salesman en de regel 'silence has deeper eyes' in gedicht XXV. Ook het meest bekende gedicht, 'Pity this busy monster,manunkind' heeft nog wel wat, al slaat de laatste regel de beleving wat dood.
August 4, 2020
E. E. Cummings never disappoints me. Beautiful collection in both construction and contents. It was neat to realize this is the book one of my all time favorite Cummings poems — “pity this busy monster,manunkind” — is from. Other favorites: “of all the blessings which to man,” “a salesman is an it that stinks Excuse,” “when god decided to invent,” “so isn’t small one littlest why,” and “now i love you and you love me” — the final line of the latter is the poem from which the collection takes its title.
February 24, 2022
Its inaccessibility proved to be a most helpful gear-turner. I love e.e. cummings for his rebellious style that is so absurd it makes me process it as a generation of pure response instead of a clear concept. There is a romantic way about his simplistic and playful diction and structure. I really appreciate his naturalistic use of common words with new roles and meanings, such as his personification and objectification of "yes's" and "why's" and other words that would otherwise go unappreciated. Very inspiring for personal writing endeavors and will make you laugh.
March 12, 2023
so isn't small one littlest why,
it into if shall climb all the
blue heaven green earth neither sea
here's more than room for three of me
amd only while your sweet eyes close
have disappeared a million whys;
but opening if are those eyes
every because is murdered twice
July 31, 2025
Five stars if only for “might these be thrushes” and “i’ve come to ask you if there isn’t a new moon outside your window” because both of those poems have lived rent-free in my mind for years now and if that’s not staying power I don’t know what is
September 17, 2020
While I appreciate his genius in how he bends and breaks language, and while some of the poems did understand and therefore did not make me feel like a moron, this wasn't my cup of tea.
January 22, 2011
cummings seems all over the place with this book. It has some of the most inventive rhymes I have seen, uses wonderful beats (they are more beats than rhythms), write eco-friends poems, returns to the theme of sex which he does so well, and introduces just the slightest touch of romance, which is unusual for him. I find more of these poems comprehensible than I have in the last several books. There are still too many that I cannot understand, so I nearly went with three stars, which may be what the obscurity really deserves, but the poems I like I like so much that I’m boosting it to four. It is nice to appreciate cummings again.
September 11, 2012
(
b
a
r
f
)
b
a
r
f
)
April 11, 2017
My least favorite of his books so far, although I said that last time, too, I think. I liked the young Cummings much better.
April 29, 2019
3 1/4 stars
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews