I'd Rather... ee cummings

I can hear the poem of ee cummings clearly in my head, (with the voice of Hugh Grant or Ralph Fiennes or other such good looking voice with an accent) and I'd like to ponder on it. But I'm no ee cummings and my take on this will probably look like a list of some sorts or for sure, some haphazardly-made essay not fit for sharing.



Not really a take on his poem (because his poem is not really about this...) but inspired by the poem's last two lines. It made me think what I'd rather be if given a choice. So here are my choices, think what would yours be.



I'd rather swim, than thread water. Eat than cook, read than type. I'd rather lie down than sit down. Talk rather than listen, hug rather than kiss, dance than sing, walk than run. I'd rather laugh than cry, or spend than save.



I'd rather see the mountains and the seas than hear the sound of the rustling trees and crashing waves. I'd rather travel by foot, without luxury, than miss all the sights and sounds all tourists fail to see.



I'd rather teach, and work for learning than be in a company and work for their profit.



I'd rather like, than lust after someone, smile rather than wink, touch rather than play hard to get, be pretty than sweaty, be unpredictable than boring, be difficult than easy, be a friend than be famous.



I'd rather be someone's love of life, than spend my life looking for my own. And I'd rather be me than living to just be.



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This sucks. I cannot even read it to edit it. Well, here's ee cumming's poem. He's one of my favorites, and literally takes my breath away with a few simple, profound words that can pluck the strings of your soul.





you shall above all things be glad and young,

For if you're young,whatever life you wear



it will become you;and if you are glad

whatever's living will yourself become.

Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:

i can entirely her only love



whose any mystery makes every man's

flesh put space on;and his mind take off time



that you should ever think,may god forbid

and(in his mercy)your true lover spare:

for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave

called progress,and negation's dead undoom.



I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing

than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance



- ee cummings