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Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound

Simulacra

Why does the horse-faced lady of just the unmentionable age
Walk down Longacre reciting Swinburne to herself, inaudibly?
Why does the small child in the soiled-white imitation fur coat
Crawl in the very black gutter beneath the grape stand?
Why does the really handsome young woman approach me in Sackville Street
Undeterred by the manifest age of my trappings?

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Altre opere di Ezra Pound...
An Object

This thing, that hath a code and n… Hath set acquaintance where might… And nothing now Disturbeth his reflections.
 1
And Thus in Nineveh

Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb Shall maidens scatter rose leaves And men myrtles, ere the night Slays day with her dark sword. ‘Lo! this thing is not mine
Doria

Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not As transient things are— gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness
To-Em-Mei’s «The Unmoving Cloud»

The clouds have gathered and gathe… and the rain falls and falls, The eight ply of the heavens are all folded into one darkness, And the wide flat road stretches o…
Quies

This is another of our ancient lov… Pass and be silent, Rullus, for t… Hath lacked a something since this… Hath lacked a something. ’Twas bu…
Epitaph

Leucis, who intended a Grand Pass… Ends with a willingness-to-oblige.
Alf’s Fifth Bit

The pomps of butchery, financial p… Told 'em to die in war, and then t… Then cut their saving to the half… When will this system lie down in… The pomps of Fleet St., festering…
The Coming of War: Actaeon

An image of Lethe, and the fields Full of faint light but golden, Gray cliffs,
Alba

As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.
 1
The Tomb At Akr Çaar

«I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have… These five millennia, and thy dead… Moved not, nor ever answer my desi… And thy light limbs, wherethrough… Burn not with me nor any saffron t…
Historion

No man hath dared to write this th… And yet I know, how that the soul… At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and a… Save reflexions of their souls.
Statement of Being

I am a grave poetic hen That lays poetic eggs And to enhance my temperament A little quiet begs. We make the yolk philosophy,
The Study in Aesthetics

The very small children in patched… Being smitten with an unusual wisd… Stopped in their play as she passe… And cried up from their cobbles: Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!
Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook

Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Cro… And the rope of the Black Electio… ’Tis the faith of the Fool that a… Can never achieve perfection: So 'It’s O, for the time of the n…
Mr. Housman’s Message

O woe, woe, People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon Therefore let us act as if we were dead already.



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