First form, then freedom

The energy in Cummings's poems comes from the strict forms that seem to be barely containing their passionate subjects and images.

Susan Cheever, E.E. Cummings: A Life

E.E. Cummings

The poetry of E.E. Cummings isn't nearly as popular as it once was, although that is true of poetry in general. What people are most likely to notice about his poems is their lack of form — not just the absence of rhyme but also his words that run together or are spread out over a page, the lack of punctuation and capital letters and the seeming nonsense of so many of his word choices.

Yet Susan Cheever makes a valid point in her biography of the poet. The freedom of his verse sprang from his mastery of form. He knew very well how to write a standard poem — and often did. But once he had mastered form, he felt free to wander from form into new directions. It's sort of like moving into a new city. First you find your way around by traveling the main streets and highways. After that you explore, looking for short-cuts, more interesting ways of getting from here to there, less congested routes. Freedom follows form.

Cheever puts it this way. "Much of Cummings's poetry plays with form in the way that only a formalist can play — this was the whole idea behind modernism as he embraced it."

One can find evidence of this sort of thing in the work of other artists. James Joyce wrote The Dubliners before he wrote Ulyssses. The early paintings of Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali show they knew very well how to paint women who looked like women — two eyes, two breasts, etc. After they had mastered form, however, they sought freedom.