The narrative endgame has always been despair.

This is one woman. It is not all women, but it is a type. Connected. Aligned with the spirit of her times. Sponsoring the artists: not accepting a conventional life with one dull man. Now faded, rich, lonely and without a single thought of her own. But forgetting that not accepting that conventional life is … Continue reading The narrative endgame has always been despair.

Ezra Pound was correct.

Ezra Pound was correct. The left are despicable, and the Fascists at least promote some form of civilization. It is a sad time when you have to choose between them. The left is shocked that the right has now stopped caring about the old rules, since for so long the left relied on the right … Continue reading Ezra Pound was correct.

Gauze stocking stoned poem

A translated poem is not the responsibility of the original poet but the translator. It stands and falls, as it much, as a poem in the language translated. The Jewel Stairs’ Grievance Li Po The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew, It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings, And … Continue reading Gauze stocking stoned poem

A poetic lie.

Even love, overmuch, can be destructive. It is better to do high deeds in Hungary than to be idle and sated. Though it is far more fun to be idle and sated than to do high deeds. An Immorality Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been … Continue reading A poetic lie.

Piled higher and deeper poem.

The Logical Conclusion When earth's last thesis is copied From the theses that went before, When idea from fact has departed And bare-boned factlets shall bore, When all joy shall have fled from study And scholarship reign supreme; When truth shall 'baaa' on the hill crests And no one shall dare to dream; When all … Continue reading Piled higher and deeper poem.

Satieties enervate

O Atthis THY soul Grown delicate with satieties, Atthis. O Atthis, I long for thy lips. 5 I long for thy narrow breasts, Thou restless, ungathered. Ezra Pound

Alpha of the day.

For the people Vox keeps away from the main blog. Since formatting matters in modern poetry, in fixed format. The Condolence From “Contemporania” A mis soledades voy, De mis soledades vengo, Porque por andar conmigo Mi bastan mis pensamientos. Lope de Vega. O MY fellow sufferers, songs of my youth, A lot of asses praise … Continue reading Alpha of the day.

Kung Walked.

From Canto XIII And Kung raised his cane against Yuan Jang, Yuan Jang being his elder, For Yuan Jang sat by the roadside pretending to be receiving wisdom. And Kung said ``You old fool, come out of it, ``Get up and do something useful.'' And Kung said ``Respect a child's faculties ``From the moment it … Continue reading Kung Walked.

The wind is not the kings. Canto IV.

From Canto IV And So-Gyoku, saying: “This wind, sire, is the king’s wind, This wind is wind of the palace, Shaking imperial water-jets.” And Hsiang, opening his collar: “This wind roars in the earth’s bag, it lays the water with rushes.” No wind is the king’s wind. Let every cow keep her calf. “This wind … Continue reading The wind is not the kings. Canto IV.

Fragment of a Canto.

Canto I And then went down to the ship, Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly seas, and We set up mast and sail on that swart ship, Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward Bore us out onward with bellying canvas, Circe’s this craft, the … Continue reading Fragment of a Canto.