On My Early, And Temporary, Admiration Of The Short Poems Of Ezra Pound

I will admit, I was sadly mistaken.

in my early praises of Ezra Pound;

I thought his poetry might be profound---

and, none to soon, my confidence was shaken.

I felt as if friendship had been betrayed

by his later, Fascist propensities,

and all his brazen ignorance displayed

in manic rants that were cries for attention

to his stacked prose that ravaged poetry's

ancient, august, and eloquent tradition---

against which Pound pounded in repetition

(ceaseless, obsessive, with no intermission).

Diverted from that proud and boastful bumbler,

I learned of Eliot---more skilled, and humbler;

a Christian whose faith, in his lines' dispersion,

assisted me at my time of conversion.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

My early enthusiasm for Pound was soon broken by his unrepentant fascism; his inclusion of Mussolini for praise in his greatest poems, The Pisan Cantos; and his inept editing of Eliot's manuscript, which became The Waste Land.  I found in Eliot a quieter, coirteous, and more modulated voice.  The Waste Land helped ne to navigate through my first term at college, with its eleven weeks (minus two days) apart from BlueLevels. 

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language_game's picture

very nice.

very nice.

Starward's picture

Thank you very much, I sure

Thank you very much, I sure do appreciate it.


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