Ezra Pound
enrolls in a class in Provencal at Hamilton College in the state of New York, in 1904, at the age of nineteen. From Hamilton he goes on to the University of Pennsylvania to pursue his linguistic studies. His ambition is to become a scholar of Romance literatures, and specifically of the poetry of the late Middle Ages.
-- From J. M. Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year, p. 139.
The view from the window lately. See how the palm trees look like musical notes on a scale? Cantos could be translated Songs but of course never is.
Gentle Reader, we have our first winning entry in the [official] 1904 Personal Contribution with Appropriate Association Contest. Mr. R.J. Keefe, of The Daily Blague submitted today's timely reference to Ezra Pound, which he came upon while reading J.M. Coetzee, which simply goes to prove you never know when or where you're going to come across What Really Matters, if you know what I mean.
As an aside to those of you faithful readers who might argue that during our time together you have been literally showering me with personal bits and pieces of 1904 significance and meaning, I urge you to remain calm and set aside any violent passions motivated by baser instincts like greed or envy and try to keep in mind that your generous support and contributions were offered up before an official contest was announced, one with actual rules and a promotional aspect. Before it was just for fun and for free. And yes, admittedly it's still free and one hopes still fun too, but now, well, I like to think we are all at that stage where we recognize we are working toward a 'higher purpose' if you see what I mean. Or not.
In any event, congratulations Mr. RJK! I had intended to "do a riff" (as I believe they say in the jazz and blues circles), on Pound's CANTOS, perhaps the group printed by Nancy Cunard's press, or possibly the early Ur cantos, or perhaps the Pisan Cantos... but alas, I am still under deadline on something else and cannot give the matter (or anything else remotely interesting) the proper attention, alas. How many important compostions, I wonder, have been left unfinished because there was a stack of bills to be paid? How many works of Art were left unmade, undone, uncreated, unsung because the mundane world intruded and there were dishes to wash and lawns to mow and diapers to change and tile grout to be scrubbed...
We can only wonder. It was Raymond Carver I believe who said what a writer needs most is a wife who supports him. As for the loss the world has suffered as a result of its venal intrusive nature, I seem to recall it was Balzac who claimed that the time spent with only one mistress had cost him at least two novels.
So work hard my precious ones, while you're still young! Remember, these are crazy times, and there's so much to distract you!
As Ezra Pound said when they released him from St. Elizabeth's, "America is a lunatic asylum."
-- From J. M. Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year, p. 139.
The view from the window lately. See how the palm trees look like musical notes on a scale? Cantos could be translated Songs but of course never is.
Gentle Reader, we have our first winning entry in the [official] 1904 Personal Contribution with Appropriate Association Contest. Mr. R.J. Keefe, of The Daily Blague submitted today's timely reference to Ezra Pound, which he came upon while reading J.M. Coetzee, which simply goes to prove you never know when or where you're going to come across What Really Matters, if you know what I mean.
As an aside to those of you faithful readers who might argue that during our time together you have been literally showering me with personal bits and pieces of 1904 significance and meaning, I urge you to remain calm and set aside any violent passions motivated by baser instincts like greed or envy and try to keep in mind that your generous support and contributions were offered up before an official contest was announced, one with actual rules and a promotional aspect. Before it was just for fun and for free. And yes, admittedly it's still free and one hopes still fun too, but now, well, I like to think we are all at that stage where we recognize we are working toward a 'higher purpose' if you see what I mean. Or not.
In any event, congratulations Mr. RJK! I had intended to "do a riff" (as I believe they say in the jazz and blues circles), on Pound's CANTOS, perhaps the group printed by Nancy Cunard's press, or possibly the early Ur cantos, or perhaps the Pisan Cantos... but alas, I am still under deadline on something else and cannot give the matter (or anything else remotely interesting) the proper attention, alas. How many important compostions, I wonder, have been left unfinished because there was a stack of bills to be paid? How many works of Art were left unmade, undone, uncreated, unsung because the mundane world intruded and there were dishes to wash and lawns to mow and diapers to change and tile grout to be scrubbed...
We can only wonder. It was Raymond Carver I believe who said what a writer needs most is a wife who supports him. As for the loss the world has suffered as a result of its venal intrusive nature, I seem to recall it was Balzac who claimed that the time spent with only one mistress had cost him at least two novels.
So work hard my precious ones, while you're still young! Remember, these are crazy times, and there's so much to distract you!
As Ezra Pound said when they released him from St. Elizabeth's, "America is a lunatic asylum."
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