Ezra Pound


Thru the 12 Houses of heaven
                    seeing the just and the unjust,
                    tasting the sweet and the sorry,
Pater Helios turning.  
“Mortal praise has no sound in her ears”
And who no longer make gods out of of beauty
Θρηνοσ        this is a dying
Yet to walk with Mozart, Agassiz and Linnaeus
       ‘neath overhanging air under sun-beat
Here take thy mind’s space
And to this garden, Marcella, ever seeking by petal, by leaf-vein
                   out of dark, and toward half-light

And over Li Chiang, the snow range is turquoise
Rock’s world that he saved us for memory
                      a thin trace in high air
And with them Paré (Ambroise) and the Men against Death
Twedell, Donnelly,
                              old Pumpelly crossed Gobi
“no horse, no dog, and no goat.”
“I’d eat his liver, told that son of...
and now bigod I have done it”                   
                                                17 Maggio,
                                                                  why not spirits?
But for the sun and serenitas
                                    (19th May ’59)
H.D. once said “serenitas"
                                          (Atthis, etc.)
                     at Dieudonné’s
                                              in pre-history.
No dog, no horse, and no goat,
The long flank, the firm breast
                             and to know beauty and death and despair
and to think that what has been shall be,
                                flowing, ever unstill,

Then a partridge-shaped cloud over dust storm.
The hells move in cycles,
                               No man can see his own end.
The Gods have not returned. “They have never left us.”
                                They have not returned.
Cloud’s processional and the air moves with their living.
Pride, jealousy and possessiveness              
                       3 pains of hell
and a clear wind over garofani
                      over Portofino 3 lights in triangulation
Or apples from Hesperides fall in their lap
                      from phantom trees.
The old Countess remembered (say 1928)
                       that ball in St. Petersburg
and as to how Stef gout out of Poland...
                       Sir Ian told ‘em help
                                          would come via the sea
(the black one, the Black Sea)
                                            Pétain warned ‘em.
And the road under apple-boughs
                      mostly grass-covered
And the olives to windward
                                Kalenda Maja.
Li Sao, Li Sao, for sorrow

            but there is something intelligent in the cherry-stone
Canals, bridges, and house walls
                                                 orange in sunlight
But to hitch sensibility to efficiency?
                        grass versus granite,
For the little light and more harmony
Oh God of all men, none excluded
and howls for Schwundgeld in the Convention
                                                    (our Constitutional
Nothing new but their ignorance,
                                ever perennial
Parsley used in the sacrifice
           and (calling Paul Peter) 12%
           does not mean one, oh, four, 104%

Error of chaos. Justification is from kindness of heart
            and from her hands floweth mercy.
As for who demand belief rather than justice.
And the host of Egypt, the pyramid builder,
                      waiting there to be born.
No more the pseudo-gothic sprawled house
                           out over the bridge there
                                    (Washington Bridge, N.Y.C.)
                             but everything boxed for economy.
That the body is inside the soul ---
                            the lifting and folding brightness‘        
                                    the darkness shattered,
                                             the fragment,
That Yeats noted the symbol over the portico
And the bull by the force that is in him ---
                     not lord of it,
And to know interest from usura
(Sac. Cairoli, presso giusto)
                   In this sphere is Giustizia.
In mountain air the grass frozen emerald
                       and with the mind set on that light
                                    saffron, emerald,
“but that kind of ignorance” said the old priest to Yeats
    (in a railway train) “is spreading every day from the schools” -
    to say nothing of other varieties.
Article X for example - put over, and 100 years to get back
                                                               to the awareness of
                                           (what’s his name in that Convention)
And in thy mind beauty,
                                         O, Artemis,
As to sin, they invented it - eh?
                                          to implement domination
eh? largely.
                  There remain grumpiness,
Sea, over roofs, but still the sea and headland.
And in every woman, somewhere in the snarl is a tenderness.
                                                 A blue light under stars.
The ruined orchards, trees rotting. Empty frames at Limone.
And for a little magnanimity somewhere,
And to know the share from the charge
                                     (scala altrui)
God’s eye art ‘ou, do not surrender perception.

And in thy mind beauty, O Artemis
                  Daphne afoot in vain speed.
When the Syrian onyx is broken.
             Out of dark, thou, Father Helios, leadest,
but the mind as Ixion, unstill, ever turning.