Poems List
Middle-Aged
‘Tis but a vague, invarious delight
As gold that rains about some buried king.
As the fine flakes,
When tourists frolicking
Stamp on his roof or in the glazing light
Try photographs, wolf down their ale and cakes
And start to inspect some further pyramid;
As the fine dust, in the hid cell
Beneath their transitory step and merriment,
Drifts through the air, and the sarcophagus
Gains yet another crust
Of useless riches for the occupant,
So I, the fires that lit once dreams
Now over and spent,
Lie dead within four walls
And so now love
Rains down and so enriches some stiff case,
And strews a mind with precious metaphors,
And so the space
Of my still consciousness
Is full of gilded snow,
The which, no cat has eyes enough
To see the brightness of.
Meditatio
When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
I am compelled to conclude
That man is the superior animal.
When I consider the curious habits of man
I confess, my friend, I am puzzled.
Mauberley
I
Turned from the 'eau-forte
Par Jaquemart'
To the strait head
Of Messalina:
'His true Penelope
Was Flaubert,'
And his tool
The engraver's.
Firmness,
Not the full smile,
His art, but an art
In profile;
Colourless
Pier Francesca,
Pisanello lacking the skill
To forge Achaia.
II
For three years, diabolus in the scale,
He drank ambrosia,
All passes, ANANGKE prevails,
Came end, at last, to that Arcadia.
He had moved amid her phantasmagoria,
Amid her galaxies,
NUKTIS 'AGALMA
Drifted . . . drifted precipitate,
Asking time to be rid of ...
Of his bewilderment; to designate
His new found orchid. . . .
To be certain . . . certain . . .
(Amid aerial flowers) . . . time for arrangements-
Drifted on
To the final estrangement;
Unable in the supervening blankness
To sift TO AGATHON from the chaff
Until he found his sieve . . .
Ultimately, his seismograph:
Given that is his 'fundamental passion',
This urge to convey the relation
Of eye-lid and cheek-bone
By verbal manifestations;
To present the series
Of curious heads in medallion
He had passed, inconscient, full gaze,
The wide-branded irides
And botticellian sprays implied
In their diastasis;
Which ansethesis, noted a year late,
And weighed, revealed his great affect,
(Orchid), mandate
Of Eros, a retrospect.
Mouths biting empty air,
The still stone dogs,
Caught in metamorphosis, were
Left him as epilogues.
Marvoil
A poor clerk I, 'Arnaut the less' they call me,
And because I have small mind to sit
Day long, long day cooped on a stool
A-jumbling o' figures for Maitre Jacques Polin,
I ha' taken to rambling the South here.
The Vicomte of Beziers's not such a bad lot.
I made rimes to his lady this three year:
Vers and canzone, till that damn'd son of Aragon,
Alfonso the half-bald, took to hanging
His helmet at Beziers.
Then came what might come, to wit: three men and one woman,
Beziers off at Mont-Ausier, I and his lady
Singing the stars in the turrets of Beziers,
And one lean Aragonese cursing the seneschal
To the end that you see, friends:
Aragon cursing in Aragon, Beziers busy at Beziers
Bored to an inch of extinction,
Tibors all tongue and temper at Mont-Ausier,
Me! in this damn'd inn of Avignon,
Stringing long verse for the Burlatz;
All for one half-bald, knock-knee'd king of the Aragonese,
Alfonso, Quattro, poke-nose.
And if when I am dead
They take the trouble to tear out this wall here,
They'11 know more of Arnaut of Marvoil
Than half his canzoni say of him.
As for will and testament I leave none,
Save this: ‘Vers and canzone to the Countess of Beziers
In return for the first kiss she gave me.'
May her eyes and her cheek be fair
To all men except the King of Aragon,
And may I come'speedily to Beziers
Whither my desire and my dream have preceded me.
O hole in the wall here! be thou my jongleur
As ne'er had I other, and when the wind blows,
Sing thou the grace of the Lady of Beziers,
For even as thou art hollow before I fill thee with this parchment,
So is my heart hollow when she filleth not mine eyes,
And so were my mind hollow, did she not fill utterly my thought.
Wherefore, O hole in the wall here,
When the wind blows sigh thou for my sorrow
That I have not the Countess of Beziers
Close in my arms here.
Even as thou shalt soon have this parchment.
O hole in the wall here, be thou my jongleur,
And though thou sighest my sorrow in the wind,
Keep yet my secret in thy breast here;
Even as I keep her image in my heart here.
Liu Ch'e
The rustling of the silk is discontinued,
Dust drifts over the court-yard,
There is no sound of foot-fall, and the leaves
Scurry into heaps and lie still,
And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them:
A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
Les Millwin
The little Millwins attend the Russian Ballet.
The mauve and greenish souls of the little Millwins
Were seen lying along the upper seats
Like so many unused boas.
The turbulent and undisciplined host of art students-
The rigorous deputation from ‘Slade’-
Was before them.
With arms exalted, with fore-arms
Crossed in great futuristic X's, the art students
Exulted, they beheld the splendours of Cleopatra
And the little Millwins beheld these things;
With their large and anaemic eyes they looked out upon
this configuration.
Let us therefore mention the fact,
For it seems to us worthy of record.
L'Art
Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
Lament of the Frontier Guard
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now!
Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
I climb the towers and towers
to watch out the barbarous land:
Desolate castle, the sky, the wide desert.
There is no wall left to this village.
Bones white with a thousand frosts,
High heaps, covered with trees and grass;
Who brought this to pass?
Who has brought the flaming imperial anger?
Who has brought the army with drums and with kettle-drums?
Barbarous kings.
A gracious spring, turned to blood-ravenous autumn,
A turmoil of wars - men, spread over the middle kingdom,
Three hundred and sixty thousand,
And sorrow, sorrow like rain.
Sorrow to go, and sorrow, sorrow returning,
Desolate, desolate fields,
And no children of warfare upon them,
No longer the men for offence and defence.
Ah, how shall you know the dreary sorrow at the North Gate,
With Rihoku's name forgotten,
And we guardsmen fed to the tigers.
By Rihaku. [Li Po?]
La Regina Avrillouse
Lady of rich allure,
Queen of the spring's embrace,
Your arms are long like boughs of ash,
Mid laugh-broken streams, spirit of rain unsure,
Breath of the poppy flower,
All the wood thy bower
And the hills thy dwelling-place.
This will I no more dream;
Warm is thy arm's allure,
Warm is the gust of breath
That ere thy lips meet mine
Kisseth my cheek and saith:
"This is the joy of earth,
Here is the wine of mirth
Drain ye one goblet sure,
Take ye the honey cup
The honied song raise up,
Drink of the spring's allure,
April and dew and rain;
Brown of the earth sing sure,
Cheeks and lips and hair
And soft breath that kisseth where
Thy lips have come not yet to drink."
Moss and the mold of earth,
These be thy couch of mirth,
Long arms thy boughs of shade
April-alluring, as the blade
Of grass doth catch the dew
And make it crown to hold the sun.
Banner be you
Above my head,
Glory to all wold display'd,
April-alluring, glory-bold.
Ité
Go, my songs, seek your praise from the young
and from the intolerant,
Move among the lovers of perfection alone.
Seek ever to stand in the hard Sophoclean light
And take you wounds from it gladly.
Comments (0)
NoComments
Ezra Pound interview for BBC 1959
Ezra Pound documentary
9. Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound and the Origins of New World Order Theory
Cormac McCarthy on Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound Reading Canto LXXXI
Poetry: "And the days are not full enough" by Ezra Pound (read by Tom Hiddleston) (12/05)
Ezra Pound Radio #14 (March 6, 1942) "Why Pick on the Jew"
Ezra Pound - A Revolutionary Simpleton - Christopher Hitchens
Ezra Pound: The Curse of Genius
Ezra Pound | E@6 Videopedia | TES | Kalyani Vallath | NTA NET, K SET, G SET, WB SET, GATE, J SET
QUANDO PASOLINI INCONTRÒ EZRA POUND - Due giganti, una via
Ezra Pound Lecture Series - From Idleness to Splendor: Poetic Legacy with Dr. John Gery
Ezra Pound - The Cantos - Canto I
Jonathan Bowden, 'Ezra Pound'
Ezra Pound e Cioran - #Filosofia 39
Massimo Cacciari : Ezra Pound
ALAIN SORAL présente Le Travail et l'Usure d'EZRA POUND
Ezra Pound: Canto LXXXI (1967)
Donald Hall - Interviewing Ezra Pound (44/111)
Donald Hall - Ezra Pound : lonely and misunderstood (45/111)
(Vidéo) Ezra Pound se promenant dans Paris
Ezra Pound reading his Usura Canto, 1939.
Pasolini incontra Ezra Pound (INTEGRALE)
"Ezra Pound: The Controversial Poet Who Redefined Modern Literature." | Biography
Ezra Pound: Artistic Revolutionary - Jonathan Bowden Lecture
Ezra Pound: "Contro l'usura" ("Cantos", XLV)
Ezra Pound Radio #11 "Power" (original broadcast recording)
Quando Ezra Pound si innamorò di Cesena (per chi non l'avesse visto in TV)
Charles Bukowski on Ezra Pound John Fante and other assorted things
Ezra Pound's "The Cantos" read by Mary de Rachewiltz
Conferenza di Marcello Veneziani su Ezra Pound e i Cantos
Incredibile servizio del TG2 su Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound's Biography and Major Works#modern#imagist#history
Imagism Literary Movement in hindi Ezra pound amy lowell & hilda doolittle
Ezra Pound - Canto LXXXI - fragmento - tradução conjunta dos irmãos Campos e de Décio Pignatari
Ezra Pound and The Cantos as precursors to today's bad writing
Ezra Pound. Canto XLV.
'In a Station of the Metro' Ezra Pound Poem Analysis
Documentario Rai / Storia di Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound reading his poem "Sestina: Altaforte"
Ezra Pound - "With Usura" Canto XLV
ROBERTO MERCADINI DIALOGA SU EZRA POUND
A Girl by Ezra Pound - Poetry Reading
The Garden: A Short Poem about Growth and Beauty by Ezra Pound (Underrated Poems)
Ezra POUND – Une Vie, une Œuvre : Violemment américain (France Culture, 1992)
The Grave of Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound, la RSI e gli intrighi vaticani. Intervista ad Antonio Pantano.
Il sogno di Ezra Pound narrato da Domenico De Simone
Ezra Pound - In a Station of the Metro