suppose
 Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

 young death sits in a cafe
 smiling, a piece of money held between
 his thumb and first finger

 (i say "will he buy flowers" to you
 and "Death is young
 life wears velour trousers
 life totters, life has a beard" i

 say to you who are silent. - "Do you see
 Life? he is there and here,
 or that, or this
 or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
 asleep, on his head
 flowers, always crying
 to nobody something about les
 roses les bluets
                 yes,
                     will He buy?
 Les belles bottes - oh hear
 , pas cheres")

 and my love slowly answered I think so. But
 I think I see someone else

 there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
 she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
 likes flowers.

Some people are just too smart for their own good. And E E Cummings is, IMHO, one of them. Not that I don’t get a kick out of his ingenious punctuation, his intriguing line breaks, his frequently bizarre spacing, his clever little witticisms (“3 thirds / asleep”). Reading Cummings is like listening to some great jazz pianist at work - the endlessness of his improvisations takes your breath away, the little tone jokes make you laugh out in surprise.

Except that you get so caught up in these clever little tricks that you never notice that underneath all that jazz is a sweet old melody. Underneath Cummings’ witty style is an incredible, singing, old-fashioned poet, a master of image and emotion. Cummings writes elsewhere “since feeling is first / he who pays attention / to the syntax of things / will never wholly kiss you”. And he who pays attention to the syntax of cummings’ poems will never wholly appreciate them.

This poem is an excellent illustration: the punctuation and word play are tame, by Cummings standards, but the image of life as a poor old man selling flowers to a young, rich death is one of the cruellest and most heartbreaking that I’ve ever come across, and Cummings draws you deeper and deeper into the pathos, until that final two word line leaves you with a sense of infinite hope. Pay attention to the syntax here, and you’ll see why this is a really clever poem. Ignore the syntax and you’ll see why it’s a beautiful one.

— Aseem