Sitting at the Feet of Ezra

"Finally finished today"

I remember reading the crusty old Pound,
thinking, “now here's something worth reading.”
The artistry, so apparent, language chiselled
word to word, phrases so deftly placed, tumbling
through time, doubling back through history,
the challenge clear, “if you want to break free,
first dear lad, you'll need to bow down before
the mighty Titans, the first to come ashore.

Understanding Ezra's has never been easy:
liking him, his orneriness, the savage
nature of his views, hating Jews--
one hardly knows where to begin--best not
to even start. “Why read a bloody fascist”
there's nothing more to learn from his cold rage.
I understand. Still, if a poet's what you want,
mastering an art, there's just no getting round
making peace with the devil's b*****d--
if you're serious, there starts the odyssey.

From Venice, the opening stroke, a roar
of forty-five lashes to the back of the dying age
of fashioned lines measured to fit a time
completely out of step with the coming hell
(the world so intent on it's war to end all war)
dares you, “go on, come on, turn another page”
be brave enough to face the death of rhyme!
Let the putrid b***h sail, it's time she's off to hell!

And so it passed, a few kindred souls to start
grasped the bit, broke the yoke--

“breeding lilacs out of the dead land,

like a king in exile, uncrowned...
a drawing down of blinds.

No better than a stone he might have thrown
  the
  nimble
  heat

  had
the green freedom of a cockatoo”

Yes, I remember reading the crusty Pound:

thinking “here's something I need to read,”
sitting at his feet, giving up my youth
to find what's become my one enduring truth--

Poerty is lived, “heavy with weeping,”--
if you chose to read old E
“out of key with his time”
it's because you're still aching to

“resuscitate the dead art.”

Ken e Bujold

©2022

Author's Note

the work of a few well-known poets lurk inside this poem. I'll name them, but not the poems, that's for you to find. Elliott, Lawrence, Owen, Robinson, Cummings, Stevens and of course the crusty old Pound.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

We could sit at the feet of any of the great traditionalists and marvel at what they could do.
We work to find our niche, what works best for us...it may be form, it may be free verse or anything in between. The most important consideration for me in reading or writing any poem is whether or not it has heart. If it is a form poem, does it still create the longed for effect of emotion?
If it is free verse, does it still have rhythm and some kind of togetherness?
The words are very important in each poem but as Archibald Macleish said in "Ars Poetica" or at least implied, each word should work with the others and not draw attention to itself. And we definitely need to have words to have a poem. But the important thing is for the poems to be palpable...to be felt.
Interesting exchanges on this poem...and a really good poem, Ken, as a springboard to the discussions.
j.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks Jacob. Interesting you mention Macleish, Ars Poetica is a fav of mine.
As for the discussion, yes I am enjoying it too. It's one that I hope more will join in on. The idea, as you say so well, "is whether or not it has heart".
I am not, would not, demean anyone's heart felt poetry. We both know, as do others who have commented here, that poetry must be felt in order to be created. I encourage each and every poet I review to keep up their scribbling,

What this poem is really about, when it's boiled right down to its essence, is not poetry at all. It's about the sense of rage, and disillusionment EP, and a good many others felt for the times in which they found themselves in. "The old w***e" as many of them wrote about. For myself, EP, Elliot, Lawrence, Cummings, Williams, and Stevens to name but some ... were in rebellion against the strait jacket the late 19th century had become. When I discovered them they simply seemed so much more alive than their contemporaries, most of which are either forgotten or seen for the end of age writers they were. Even Yeats, who I absolutely adore, lacks the primal rage that the age really needed. Put into context, colonial skirmishes, labor repression, and then a world war that slaughtered millions of young men..the best of the age. really warrented a roar.
In conclusion I wonder, ask in a way, how much would the world have gained if the Wilfred Owens of the world had continued to produce poems rather than posthumous medals?

Ken e

[Richard🖌]

Excellently spake, Poet!

Albeit, one-sided, an artfully shright slam to any form of poetry other than Free Verse and Poetic Prose, the most ancient, classical, and antiquated forms of all.
What would be the purpose in abolishing the beautiful art of structured poetry, denigrating some of the world's greatest poetical masterpieces, discouraging the study, practice, and passionate, hard earned accomplishment in skillful artistry of poetical elegance.
In my mind's-eye, the true master of poetry should study, learn, develop, and possess the skill and open-mindedness that allows them to compose well in any form, and not limit themselves to the mediocrity of one, or only a few ways of expressing the infinite wonderments of inner human, Nature, and outer universe.
To embrace one style over another is normal, according to one's natural bent of nature, but to set out to defame others' choices is resorting to narrow mindedness and seeing the world of poetry with bias and prejudice in an dismissive, arrogant manner. And, when it's pounded in reviews on others' hard won efforts they take pride in, it is not only rude, inconsiderate, and disrespectful, it creates and exacerbates an unsettling chasm between the acceptance, respect, and beauty of one another's differences.
Write of your radical passion that excludes structured poetry in your own pieces, like you have here, but quit bullying and cramming it down others' throats who enjoy reading and writing in your reviews. No one wants to hear you pontificate how much you like you form and don't like theirs … it gets mighty old mighty quick.
Have enough resect and consideration to either leave constructive and encouraging reviews free of negativity, and concentrate your comments and sentiments on the poem and author's work you're reviewing, or avoid reviewing poems outside of your own taste, as you, and others like you, are doing more harm than good … believe me!

Having said all that, I completely understand your sentiments and what you mean … no needs to beat us over the head with it in every review. We're as proud of our work and poetic prowess as you are yours … let's embrace one another and show regard for our differences in choice and form in our reviews. How about it?
Respectfully! ⁓ Richard🖌

[Ken e Bujold]

Thanks for the very in-depth review Richard. In rebuttal, Pound wasn't against old forms, neither am I, he was in fact a master of them as well, everything from the ancient Chinese forms, through Old English of Beowulf and book of Exeter through to the period he was living through. What he was however was an unrepentant voice to crying, what next? What I am trying to get at is a very simple point. Ezra Pound was the force that kicked in the door to the old style and said there's more. Today he is largely unread by most non scholarly readers, and all too easily dismissed as unworthy of the effort required to read and understand, due simply to the vile nature of his facist politics. I am saying, ok that's the easy way to excuse yourself from the hard work of drilling down inside the man's work.
Thing is if you really wish to understand the origin of modern poetry it begins with him. As an aside I am always amused by people who cite Elliot as the first great modern work...seems none of them have bothered to read the dedication to The Wasteland, which translates simply as To Pound, the better tactician. Ezra was and will always remain the 1st major force in poetry of the 20th century.
That's how i see it. I am in no way dismissive of rhyme or meter, as a significant portion of this poem works in the style. My wish was to sort of accent the divide he stood at while acknowleging my debt to his work.

Ken e

[Ken e Bujold]

An add-on to my earlier comment Richard. The first was written while sitting waiting for my flight to be called.
I am not disparaging old forms or those who love to use them. I admire the discipline of using their structure.
What I am getting at is Pound's role in birthing Modernism.
For me, the most important verse of the poem is the 3rd. It is an attempt to capture what Pound and the others were after at the time, how they seemed to see the futility of what was coming, and hence led the charge to tear down the entire late 19th-century structure of civilization.
Pound himself was a great admirer of the old form when done well. He and Yeats were lifelong friends and correspondents.
My third verse is a terse verse, I will admit that, but shouldn't be read as a condemnation of those who chose to write using the old ways. It should be read as a summation of Pound's clarion call at the time.
My choice of diction is intentional. From the opening. "Venice", was A Lume Spento, 45 poems published in Venice. Phrases such as "a dying age" and the death of rhyme invoke his great Hugh Selwyn Mauberley.
Hope this may lend some nuance and clarity to the poem and its intent.
Ken e

[Richard🖌]

Ken,
I very much enjoyed your eloquently patience demeanor in clarifying your points on this oft controversial topic.
Though, no poetic guru, I perceive poetry a bit differently, perhaps, than most might.
For instance, poetry is not words to me, it is form, the creative manner in which words are arranged and utilized to engender imagery, ambiance, flow, emotion, thought, feeling, nuance, timbre, etc; and, for every eventuality there is a form that best facilitates and befits the theme or ambiance a writer strives or wishes to convey by way of language in whatever poetic devices that writer is skilled-in enough to get it across … much in the manner a composer of music writes their notes and pauses on scales in rhythm, beat, melody, time, volume, etc; that perfectly expresses softness, excitement, dread, adventure, seafaring, exuberance, standing high on a mountain, and so forth.
Poetry is the same, and there is no such thing as old forms -- only forms with language and diction of one kind or another … old or new, archaic or contemporary, often a combination of both utilized fully with the charm and/or power derived by either or both, but to strip poetry of form, poetic language, and voice leaves nought save prose or talking in catchy words and phrases, And, to write prose, stories, and commentary, displaying it in poetic format of verses and linebreaks, stripped of rhythm (even rhyme) does not make it poetry … perhaps, Poetic Prose -- at best.
Thus, format does not make poetry, either … poetry requires poetic voice, metaphor, imagery, literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature, a quality of beauty and intensity that arise to the state of emotions, feelings, and imagination, etc; regarded as characteristic of poems: poetry, adventure, and romance are nicely balanced in the musicality of beguiling verbiage.
Something … has to define poetry as poetry; even Free Verse has its own set of rules: the heartbeat of Free Verse is imagery, emotion, metaphor, syntax, rhythm, flow, and properly timed linebreaks … without these, it is merely talking displayed in some sort of poetic format.
Forms, combined with poetic language, are what makes poetry poetry in my mind's-eye … and, to be a well-rounded master of our artful craft requires that a poetess or poet is flexible and skilled enough to be capable of composing accomplished poetry in most, if not all, primary poetic forms, including the forms of Free Verse and Freestyle.
Ezra Pound, even borrowed the idea of minimalism from the Chinese and Japanese to set in motion/introduce a certain form of poetry and language at a time the European and Western poetry world was predominately structural, metered, and rhymed, but certainly not a new concept, considering the formative Free Verse/Prose roots of poetry, itself.

I take great pleasure in knowing of your love for classical and (so called) modern/contemporary poetry, alike.

May we never lose this love for poetry and of those with whom we so passionately share it! ⁓ Richard🖌

[Ken e Bujold]

yes Richard I love all forms and have used many of them for yrs. The beginning to your comments here would have the old crusty smiling from his perch in hades, saying yes, some bloody b*****d gets my point. He was a master of my styles. Was also a wanderer by nature.
Thanks for you comment

[W. Barrett Munn]

I love Olivia’s comment-precisely why we read poetry, to be tugged, word upon word, phrase upon phrase, line upon line to a sense of having been bettered by the experience.

Wonderfully fulfilling poem, Ken. Thanks for letting us see it.
Winston

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you my friend

[Olivia]

From the first time I read "tumbling" I realise that this is the only way to describe the journey of the poem. The way the sentences tumble over one another in a need to be read. I didn't realise the poem was over until I tried to read empty space, engaging, interesting. Love it.

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you so much for the very glowing and generous review Olivia. I am thrilled to read your sense of tumbling, and reading on past the end.

Ken e