Quotes from Ezra Pound

Time, space, neither life nor death is the answer. And of man seeking good, doing evil. In meiner Heimat where the dead walked and the living were made of cardboard. Ezra Pound, from "Canto CXV" (The Cantos of Ezra Pound)

And I am homesick After mine own kind that know, and feel And have some breath for beauty and the arts.

Nothing short of divine vision or a new cure for the clapp can possibly be worth all the circumambient peripherization. [on Finnegans Wake]

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.

Love thou thy dream All base love scorning, Love thou the wind And here take warning That dreams alone can truly be, For 'tis in dream I come to thee.

The difference between a gun and a tree is a difference of tempo. The tree explodes every spring.

And so the space Of my still consciousness Is full of gilded snow, The which, no cat has eyes enough To see the brightness of. — Ezra Pound, from "Middle-Aged," Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22 . Edited by Harriet Monroe. (Chicago, 1912–22)

There is something so degrading - at least, one would think that there were something so degrading in the practice of writing as a trade - that anyone who has once earned a livelihood, or part of it, obviously and openly, by popular writing, can never be seriously regarded by any great number of people. And then, of course, "he does too much.

The Garrett" Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers. Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried. Dawn enters with little feet like a gilded Pavlova, And I am near my desire. Nor has life in it aught better Than this hour of clear coolness, the hour of waking together.

Exquisite loneliness Bound of mine own caprice I fly on the wings of an unknown chord That ye hear not, Can not discern My music is weird and untamed Barbarous, wild, extreme, I fly on the note that ye hear not On the chord that ye can not dream. — Ezra Pound, from "Anima Sola," Collected Early Poems (New Directions, 1976)

Separation on the River Kiang KO-JIN goes west from Ko-kaku-ro, The smoke-flowers are blurred over the river. His lone sail blots the far sky. And now I see only the river, The long Kiang, reaching heaven. Taking

Under white clouds, cielo di Pisa. Out of all this beauty something must come.

La gran literatura no es más que el lenguaje cargado de sentido hasta el grado máximo que sea posible.

O woman shapely as a swan, Your gunmen tread on my dreams

Go, my songs, seek your praise from the young and from the intolerant, Move among the lovers of perfection alone. Seek ever to stand in the hard Sophoclean light And take your wounds from it gladly.

The natural object is always the adequate symbol.

Post Mortem Conspectu" A brown, fat babe sitting in the lotus, And you were glad and laughing With a laughter not of this world. It is good to splash in the water And laughter is the end of all things.

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.

She is submarine, she is an octopus, she is A biological process, So Arnaut turned there Above him the wave pattern cut in the stone Spire-top alevel the well-curb And the tower with cut stone above that, saying, "I am afraid of the life after death." and after a pause: "Now, at least, I have shocked him.

Never ", said Winston to his cousin " waste time making munitions. Be a GUN, and shoot other's munitions. Don't waste time having ideas." (cousin deeply impressed..but did not achieve lasting preeminence)

And the red sun mocks my sadness.

Pull down thy vanity, it is not man Made courage, or made order, or made grace, Pull down thy vanity I say pull down Learn of the green-world what can be thy place

As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.

Esclavo es aquel que espera por alguien que venga y lo libere