A Girl The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast - Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are, And all this … Continue reading Folly Poem.
Beauty does not change. Though the person who is beautiful fades, and the light changes, beauty does not. It reflects higher: to the forms by which all things are truly known. Though many call that which is ugly beautiful this is a lie. It is modern propaganda. It is something mandated by sheer force of … Continue reading Beauty is inflexible.
Two poems: one from a local, and one from a fascist. That Baxter was not: his father, who was a conscientious objector during the first war, is now fashionable. Baxter was too brutal, too honest, too drunk and Catholic to remain in the politically correct pantheon. And Pound chose the wrong side in the war, … Continue reading Friday poems
I find that the unfashionable produce the best art. The politiccally correct are too careful. Hat tip to Theodore Beale for finding the short version of this quote, but the language is telling. N. K. Jemisin has won two Hugos. I blog more considered sentences sleep deprived. What’s your next project? What are you working … Continue reading Two modern poets, two modern poems.
Ezra Pound feared what education would do for America. With good reason. It did not stick: what was rigorous was called badthink. Cantico del Sole The thought of what America would be like If the Classics had a wide circulation Troubles my sleep, The thought of what America, The thought of what America,The thought of … Continue reading Nunc Dimittus: Pound, Part.
Nick B Steves is correct Pound works best in "the brilliance that springs from disciplined constraint." Here is another one. The Golden Sestina In the bright season when He, most high Jove, From welkin reaching down his glorying hand, Decks the Great Mother and her changing face, Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold … Continue reading Jove, Sestina, Pound.
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. 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.
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
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.