myself lay quietly in the deep mud

ee cummings...

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent

war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting

for,
my sister

isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds) of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers

etcetera wristers etcetera, my

mother hoped that

i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my

self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et

cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera)



Love this poem. I recently used it on the poetry exam I wrote for my students. I know it's essentially a love poem (I cut out the ending) I like the other aspect of it. Which is, while this kid is at war--everyone has their own (sterilized and idealized and mislead) version of what it should be like to fight and die for your country. Meanwhile, none of this matters, because it's the kid that is the one lying in the mud, no matter what anyone thinks or if anyone else cares. I think it resonates as a metaphor outside of war. Of course, isn't that how everyone feels. Dying in the mud, thinking of something else. Too much? I didn't say it, a famous poet did.

meanwhile my

self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et

cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera)