  Poetry
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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In the Old Age of the Soul
by Ezra Pound
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning,
So to my soul grown old -
Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray,
Grown old with namy a hither-coming and hence-going -
Till now they send him dreams and no more deed;
So doth he flame again with might for action,
Forgetful of the council of elders,
Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him
So doth he flame again toward valiant doing.
Ezra Pound was born on October 30, 1885, in Hailey, Idaho. His father got a job at the United States Mint and moved the family to Pennsylvania, when Ezra was a year old. At 15, Ezra started at the University of Pennsylvania. He studied there for only two years and then transferred to Hamilton College, where he received a degree in 1905.
After getting his degree he taught Romance Languages at Wabash College in Indiana for a couple of years. Then he resigned to travel. He visited Spain, Italy and England. It was during these travels that Ezra became interested in the poetry. 1908 he moved to London, England where he worked as an editor. While in London he met the artist Dorothy Shakespear. Ezra married Dorothy in 1914. That following year Ezra published Cathay.
World War I convinced Ezra that it was time to leave London and after he published Homage to Sextus Propertius in 1919 and Hugh Selwyn Mauberley in 1920, he moved to Paris. It was while living in Paris he met and became involved with Olga Rudge, a violinist. Dorothy, Olga and Ezra formed a ménage à trois that went on for the rest of his life. Olga and Ezra had a daughter Maria Rudge.
In 1924 Ezra moved to Italy and became involved in Fascist politics. This lead to his arrest in 1945 when he returned to the Untied States, for broadcasting fascists propaganda via radio to the United States during WWII, on charges of treason. One year later he was acquitted and deemed unfit for trial. He was then committed to St. Elizabeth's Hospital in Washington, D.C. While at St. Elizabeth's Ezra continued writing and published The Pisan Cantos in 1948 followed by Seventy Cantos, poems in 1950.
For years family and friends wrote letters to appeal for Ezra’s release from the hospital and finally in 1958 he was released. He then returned to Venice. On November 1, 1972, just two days after his eighty-seventh birthday, Ezra Pound died. Sevral piece of his work were published after his death, in 1975 Selected Poems, 1908-1959 was published followed by Collected Early Poems in 1976. Then in 1990 Personae: The Shorter Poems of Ezra Pound was published.
A Girl
by Ezra Pound
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 is folly to the world.
The Garden
by Ezra Pound
En robe de parade.
Samain
Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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SNOW QUEEN
A musky smell is on the air,
Motionless she is standing there
before the mirror on the wall,
From floor to ceiling it tells all.
Dreams of being Prom Queen but knows
Her majesty’s not made of snow.
She pops a mint to freshen breath,
Knows she faces a melting death.
‘Tis warmer now, no longer cool,
She already stands in a pool.
One minute she won’t be seen,
No mercy; shown for this snow queen.
12/29/08
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If
The musky scent of his expensive
mint aftershave causes me to stand
motionless in the mirror for a long
minute as I watch his majesty cross
the cold tile floor in bare feet.
Two arms wrap themselves around
My waist as I fall backwards
Melting into his warm embrace.
Lord, have mercy if this is but a
Dream, for I cannot live without him.
Honorable mention:
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#1509217 by Not Available. |
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Poetry: January 21, 2009 Issue [#2833]
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