Eimi, by E. E. Cummings
The reissure of Eimi raises an interesting question: why was E. E. Cummings not taken in by the Soviet myth? For it is clear from this longwinded, wonderfully witty, vastly meticulous day-by-day record of his Russian trip that he was never for a minute taken in, though he did his traveling in Russia in 1931, just one year before Soviet partisanship among American avant-garde intellectuals reached its peak. Why, then, did it fall to so politically untutored and economically naive a person as a mere poet—a poet synonymous with the 20′S, that era of sentimental softheadedness and poverty of theory—to pierce the idealistic smokescreens and go straight to the reality?
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