Pound poem about Pounds.
Pound was a fascist. There is much fascists got right in their analysis of the society they were in. Including the fact that political parties look after the interests of those who pay them. Besides, they could write satire. Song Of The Six Hundred M.P.’s ‘We are ‘ere met together in this momentous hower, Ter […] Read More
Poem pound costly is.
I’m indebted to the poet E. Anthony Gray. He found Pound’s early work, bought a copy, and put it up. People think it needs footnotes. Such people did not read when it was published, for all then knew the mythos of the ancients and the saving theology of Christ. The Tree I stood still and […] Read More
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 […] Read More
Beauty is inflexible.
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 […] Read More
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, […] Read More