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Homage To Sextus Propertius - V

Homage To Sextus Propertius - V

1
Now if ever it is time to cleanse Helicon;
to lead Emathian horses afield,
And to name over the census of my chiefs in the Roman camp.
If I have not the faculty, 'The bare attempt would be praise-worthy.'
'In the things of similar magnitude
the mere will to act is sufficient.'
The primitive ages sang Venus,
the last sings of a tumult,
And I also will sing war when this matter of a girl is exhausted.
I with my beak hauled ashore would proceed in a more stately manner,
My Muse is eager to instruct me in a new gamut, or gambetto,
Up, up my soul, from your lowly cantilation,
put on a timely vigour.
Oh august Pierides! Now for a large-mouthed product.
Thus:
'The Euphrates denies its protection to the Parthian and
apologizes for Crassus,'
And 'It is, I think, India which now gives necks to your triumph,'
And so forth, Augustus. 'Virgin Arabia shakes in her inmost dwelling.'
If any land shrink into a distant seacoast,
it is a mere postponement of your domination.
And I shall follow the camp, I shall be duly celebrated
for singing the affairs of your cavalry.
May the fates watch over my day.


2
Yet you ask on what account I write so many love-lyrics
And whence this soft book comes into my mouth.
Neither Calliope nor Apollo sung these things into my ear,
My genius is no more than a girl.


If she with ivory fingers drive a tune through the lyre,
We look at the process.
How easy the moving fingers; if hair is mussed on her forehead,
If she goes in a gleam of Cos, in a slither of dyed stuff,
There is a volume in the matter; if her eyelids sink into sleep,
There are new jobs for the author;
And if she plays with me with her shirt off,
We shall construct many Iliads.
And whatever she does or says
We shall spin long yarns out of nothing.


Thus much the fates have allotted me, and if, Maecenas,
I were able to lead heroes into armour, I would not,
Neither would I warble of Titans, nor of Ossa
spiked onto Olympus,
Nor of causeways over Pelion,
Nor of Thebes in its ancient respectability,
nor of Homer's reputation in Pergamus,
Nor of Xerxes' two-barreled kingdom, nor of Remus and his royal family,
Nor of dignified Carthaginian characters,



Nor of Welsh mines and the profit Marus had out of them,
I should remember Caesar's affairs . . .
for a background,
Although Callimachus did without them,
and without Theseus,
Without an inferno, without Achilles attended of gods,
Without Ixion, and without the sons of Menoetius and
the Argo and without Jove's grave and the Titans.


And my ventricles do not palpitate to Caesarial ore rotundas,
Nor to the tune of the Phrygian fathers.
Sailor, of winds; a plowman, concerning his oxen;
Soldier, the enumeration of wounds; the sheep-feeder, of ewes;
We, in our narrow bed, turning aside from battles:
Each man where he can, wearing out the day in his manner.
3
It is noble to die of love, and honourable to remain
uncuckolded for a season.
And she speaks ill of light women,
and will not praise Homer
Because Helen's conduct is 'unsuitable'.
593

Homage To Sextus Propertius - VII

Homage To Sextus Propertius - VII

Me happy, night, night full of brightness;
Oh couch made happy by iny long delectations;
How many words talked out with abundant candles;
Struggles when the lights were taken away;
Now with bared breasts she wrestled against me,
Tunic spread in delay;
And she then opening my eyelids fallen in sleep,
Her lips upon them; and it was her mouth saying:
Sluggard!


In how many varied embraces, our changing arms,
Her kisses, how many, lingering on my lips.
'Turn not Venus into a blinded motion,
Eyes are the guides of love,
Paris took Helen naked coming from the bed of Menelaus,
Endymion's naked body, bright bait for Diana,'
such at least is the story.


While our fates twine together, sate we our eyes with love;
For long night comes upon you
and a day when no day returns.
Let the gods lay chains upon us
so that no day shall unbind them.


Fool who would set a term to love's madness,
For the sun shall drive with black horses,
earth shall bring wheat from barley,
The flood shall move toward the fountain
Ere love know moderations,
The fish shall swim in dry streams.
No, now while it may be, let not the fruit of life cease.
Dry wreaths drop their petals,
their stalks are woven in baskets,
To-day we take the great breath of lovers,
to-morrow fate shuts us in.


Though you give all your kisses
you give but few.


Nor can I shift my pains to other,
Hers will I be dead,
If she confer such nights upon me,
long is my life, long in years,
If she give me many,
God am I for the time.
464

Homage To Sextus Propertius - II

Homage To Sextus Propertius - II

I had been seen in the shade, recumbent on cushioned Helicon,
The water dripping from Bellerophon's horse,
Alba, your kings, and the realm your folk
have constructed with such industry
Shall be yawned out on my lyre with such industry.
My little mouth shall gobble in such great fountains,
'Wherefrom father Ennius, sitting before I came, hath drunk.'
I had rehearsed the Curian brothers, and made remarks
on the Horatian javelin
(Near Q. H. Flaccus' book-stall).
'Of’ royal Aemilia, drawn on the memorial raft,
'Of’ the victorious delay of Fabius, and the left-handed
battle at Cannae,
Of lares fleeing the 'Roman seat' . . .
I had sung of all these
And of Hannibal,
and of Jove protected by geese.
And Phoebus looking upon me from the Castalian tree,
Said then 'You idiot! What are you doing with that water:
‘Who has ordered a book about heroes?
'You need, Propertius, not think
'About acquiring that sort of a reputation.
'Soft fields must be worn by small wheels,
'Your pamphlets will be thrown, thrown often into a chair
'Where a girl waits alone for her lover;
'Why wrench your page out of its course?
'No keel will sink with your genius
'Let another oar churn the water,
'Another wheel, the arena; mid-crowd is as bad as mid-sea.'
He had spoken, and pointed me a place with his plectrum:


Orgies of vintages, an earthern image of Silenus
Strengthened with rushes, Tegaean Pan,
The small birds of the Cytharean mother,
their Punic faces dyed in the Gorgon's lake;
Nine girls, from as many countrysides


bearing her offerings in their unhardened hands,
Such my cohort and setting. And she bound ivy to his thyrsos;
Fitted song to the strings;
Roses twined in her hands.
And one among them looked at me with face offended,
Calliope:
'Content ever to move with white swans!
'Nor will the noise of high horses lead you ever to battle;
Nor will the public criers ever have your name;
in their classic horns,
'Nor Mars shout you in the wood at Aeonium,
Nor where Rome ruins German riches,
'Nor where the Rhine flows with barbarous blood,
and flood carries wounded Suevi.
'Obviously crowned lovers at unknown doors,



'Night dogs, the marks of a drunken scurry,
'These are your images, and from you the sorcerizing of
shut-in young ladies,
'The wounding of austere men by chicane.'
Thus Mistress Calliope,
Dabbling her hands in the fount, thus she
Stiffened our face with the backwash of Philetas the Coan.
462

Homage To Sextus Propertius - IV

Homage To Sextus Propertius - IV

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH
LYGDAMUS


Tell me the truths which you hear of our constant young lady,
Lygdamus,
And may the bought yoke of a mistress lie with
equitable weight on your shoulders;
For I am swelled up with inane pleasurabilities
and deceived by your reference
To things which you think I would like to believe.


No messenger should come wholly empty,
and a slave should fear plausibilities;
Much conversation is as good as having a home.
Out with it, tell it to me, all of it, from the beginning,
I guzzle with outstretched ears.
Thus? She wept into uncombed hair,
And you saw it.
Vast waters flowed from her eyes ?
You, you Lygdamus
Saw her stretched on her bed,
was no glimpse in a mirror;
No gawds on her snowy hands, no orfevrerie,
Sad garment draped on her slender arms.
Her escritoires lay shut by the bed-feet.
Sadness hung over the house, and the desolated female attendants
Were desolated because she had told them her dreams.


She was veiled in the midst of that place,
Damp woolly handkerchiefs were stuffed into her undryable eyes,
And a querulous noise responded to our solicitous reprobations.
For which things you will get a reward from me, Lygdamus?
To say many things is equal to having a home.
And the other woman 'has not enticed me
by her pretty manners,
'She has caught me with herbaceous poison,
she twiddles the spiked wheel of a rhombus,
'She stews puffed frogs, snake's bones, the moulted
'She stews puffed frogs, snake's bones, the moulted
feathers of screech owls,


'She binds me with ravvles of shrouds.
Black spiders spin in her bedl
'Let her lovers snore at her in the morning!
May the gout cramp up her feet!
'Does he like me to sleep here alone,
Lygdamus?
'Will he say nasty things at my funeral?'


And you expect me to believe this
after twelve months of discomfort ?
478

Historion

Historion


No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great
At times pass athrough us,
And we are melted into them, and are not
Save reflexions of their souls.
Thus am I Dante for a space and am
One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief,
Or am such holy ones I may not write
Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;
This for an instant and the flame is gone.


'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere
Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I"
And into this some form projects itself:
Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine;
And as the clear space is not if a form's
Imposed thereon,
So cease we from all being for the time,
And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.
446

Homage To Quintus Septimus Florentis Christianus

Homage To Quintus Septimus Florentis Christianus

I
(Ex libris Graecæ)
Theodorus will be pleased at my death,
And .someone else will be pleased at the death of Theodoras,
And yet everyone speaks evil of death.


II
This place is the Cyprian's for she has ever the fancy
To be looking out across the bright sea,
Therefore the sailors are cheered, and the waves
Keep small with reverence, beholding her image.
Anyte


III
A sad and great evil is the expectation of death
And there are also the inane expenses of the funeral;
Let us therefore cease from pitying the dead
For after death there comes no other calamity.
Palladas


IV
Troy
Whither, O city, are your profits and your gilded shrines,
And your barbecues of great oxen,
And the tall women walking your streets, in gilt clothes,
With their perfumes in little alabaster boxes?
Where is the work of your home-born sculptors?


Time's tooth is into the lot, and war's and fate's too.
Envy has taken your all,
Save your douth and your story.
Agathas Scholasticus


V
Woman? Oh, woman is a consummate rage,
but dead, or asleep, she pleases.
Take her. She has two excellent seasons.
Palladas
VI
Nicharcus upon Phidon his doctor
Phidon neither purged me, nor touched me,
But I remembered the name of his fever medicine and
died.
465

Heather

Heather


The black panther treads at my side,
And above my fingers
There float the petal-like flames.


The milk-white girls
Unbend from the holly-trees,
And their snow-white leopard
Watches to follow our trace.
406

Grace Before Song

Grace Before Song

Lord God of heaven that with mercy dight
Th'alternate prayer wheel of the night and light
Eternal hath to thee, and in whose sight
Our days as rain drops in the sea surge fall,


As bright white drops upon a leaden sea
Grant so my songs to this grey folk may be:


As drops that dream and gleam and falling catch the sun
Evan'scent mirrors every opal one
Of such his splendor as their compass is,
So, bold My Songs, seek ye such death as this.
378

Further Instructions

Further Instructions

Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,
You do next to nothing at all.


You do not even express our inner nobilitys,
You will come to a very bad end.


And I? I have gone half-cracked.
I have talked to you so much that I almost see you about me,
Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing!


But you, newest song of the lot,
You are not old enough to have done much mischief.
I will get you a green coat out of China
With dragons worked upon it.
I will get you the scarlet silk trousers
From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella;
Lest they say we are lacking in taste,
Or that there is no caste in this family.
436

Fratres Minores

Fratres Minores

With minds still hovering above their testicles
Certain poets here and in France
Still sigh over established and natural fact
Long since fully discussed by Ovid.
They howl. They complain in delicate and exhausted metres
That the twitching of three abdominal nerves
Is incapable of producing a lasting Nirvana.
376

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Identification and basic context

Ezra Weston Loomis Pound was an American expatriate poet, critic, musician, and translator. He is widely considered one of the most influential figures of literary modernism. Pound was instrumental in the development of two significant movements: Imagism and Vorticism. His work is marked by a profound engagement with history, economics, art, and diverse cultural traditions, often employing a complex, allusive style. He wrote primarily in English, but his work is characterized by its multilingualism and extensive use of foreign language quotations. He spent most of his adult life as an expatriate, living in Italy, France, and England.

Childhood and education

Pound was born in Hailey, Idaho, but his family soon moved to Philadelphia, where he spent his formative years. His father worked as a registrar at the Philadelphia Mint. Pound displayed an early interest in languages and literature. He attended Hamilton College and the University of Pennsylvania, where he studied Romance languages and literature. His early education instilled in him a deep appreciation for classical literature and languages, which would profoundly shape his poetic sensibilities. He was also exposed to various cultural and philosophical ideas that fueled his intellectual curiosity.

Literary trajectory

Pound's literary career began with the publication of his first collection of poems, "A Lume Spento," in Venice in 1908. He quickly became a central figure in the burgeoning modernist literary scene, first in London and later in Paris. He was a key proponent of the Imagist movement, advocating for clarity, precision, and economy of language. He later founded Vorticism, a more aggressive and dynamic movement. Pound was a tireless promoter of other artists, notably T.S. Eliot, James Joyce, and Ernest Hemingway, providing critical support, introductions, and financial assistance. His most ambitious and sprawling work is "The Cantos," an epic poem in progress that occupied him for much of his life.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Pound's major works include "Personae" (1909), "Ripostes" (1912), "Hugh Selwyn Mauberley" (1920), and the monumental "The Cantos" (published in stages from the 1920s until his death). His style evolved over time, but consistently featured a demand for precision in language, a rejection of vague sentimentality, and an interest in juxtaposing diverse historical and cultural elements. Themes in his work often include the decline of civilization, the nature of beauty, the corrupting influence of usury, and the search for order. He experimented with form, incorporating elements of free verse, classical meters, and polyphonic structures. His poetic voice could be lyrical, scholarly, prophetic, or polemical. Pound's language was rich with allusions to mythology, history, and literature from various cultures, often weaving together multiple languages and dialects.

Cultural and historical context

Pound lived through periods of immense global upheaval, including World War I and World War II. His political views became increasingly controversial, particularly his espousal of fascism and his antisemitic radio broadcasts during World War II, for which he was charged with treason. He was deeply involved with literary circles in London and Paris, where he interacted with many of the leading figures of modernism. His generation of writers grappled with the fragmentation of modern society and sought new forms to express contemporary experience. Pound's engagement with economics, particularly his interest in Social Credit theory, significantly influenced his later work and political outlook.

Personal life

Pound's personal life was marked by complex relationships. He had a long-term relationship with the painter Dorothy Shakespear, whom he married, and also maintained a significant relationship with the violinist Olga Rudge, with whom he had a daughter. His expatriate lifestyle led to periods of financial instability, which he navigated through his promotional activities for other artists and his own writing. His intellectual and political obsessions often dominated his personal interactions, sometimes straining relationships.

Recognition and reception

Pound's initial reception was that of a revolutionary poet and a champion of modernist literature. However, his wartime broadcasts and fascist sympathies led to widespread condemnation and legal repercussions, including his arrest and indictment for treason. He spent years in an psychiatric hospital in Washington D.C. While his literary influence remained undeniable, his public image was severely tarnished. Posthumously, there has been a renewed critical interest in separating his literary achievements from his political views, though this remains a complex and contentious issue.

Influences and legacy

Pound was influenced by classical poets such as Homer and Ovid, as well as by medieval troubadours and Chinese poetry (especially the work of Confucius). His legacy is immense; he was a catalyst for many of the most important writers of the 20th century, including T.S. Eliot, whose "The Waste Land" he significantly edited. He is credited with introducing key ideas of Imagism and Vorticism and shaping the course of modernist poetry. His experimental approach to form, language, and subject matter has had a lasting impact on subsequent generations of poets. His work continues to be studied, translated, and debated worldwide.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical analysis of Pound's work often grapples with the tension between his innovative poetic technique and his deeply problematic political and social views. "The Cantos," in particular, has been subject to extensive scholarly interpretation, with critics exploring its epic scope, its engagement with historical figures, and its fragmentation. Debates often center on whether his artistic merit can be separated from his ideological commitments, and how to approach his antisemitism and fascist sympathies within an analysis of his poetry.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Pound was known for his eccentric personality and his fervent pronouncements. He was a prolific correspondent and actively engaged in promoting his contemporaries through letters and introductions. His interest in economics was not merely theoretical; he believed that usury was a primary cause of societal ills and actively campaigned for economic reforms. His habit of collecting and translating diverse literary traditions reflects his lifelong project of weaving a new epic for the modern age.

Death and memory

Pound died in Venice in 1972. His death marked the end of a tumultuous but profoundly influential literary life. His memory remains complex, celebrated for his revolutionary contributions to poetry and modernism, yet shadowed by his wartime political activities. His works continue to be read and studied, ensuring his place as a pivotal, albeit controversial, figure in 20th-century literature.