Petals on a wet, black bough

1972: Ezra Pound is dead
I stand behind a slick yellow lectern
To lecture on Ezra Pound
I am younger than anyone in the room
I have pulled my hair back so tightly
That my eyes are slanted
I wish to speak of poetry and not of politics
Of this man’s ideas of imagism,
Lucidity and thrift of language
Chinese and Japanese language, moving figures
Concrete images without excess commentary
Physical analogies that exactly convey his meaning
Hard, clear, potent poetry, free of stilted and artificial
Language, meter, and imagery
Regard: the musical phrase,
And not the tick of the metronome

Either move or be moved.

Genius... is the capacity to see ten things where the ordinary man sees one.

Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance... poetry begins to atrophy when it gets too far from music.

The book should be a ball of light in one's hand.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough . . . and here I stand
Persephone

Ezra Pound was born in Hailey
He died in Venice

My hair has come undone and has fallen in my hands
And all I want to do is dance


©Edwina Peterson Cross