Salutation
O generation of the thoroughly smug and thoroughly uncomfortable, I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun, I have seen them with untidy families, I have seen their smiles full of teeth and heard
The Needle
Come, or the stellar tide will slip away. Eastward avoid the hour of its decline, Now! for the needle trembles in my soul! Here we have had our vantage, the good hour. Here we
From "Hugh Selwyn Mauberly"
For three years, out of key with his time, He strove to resuscitate the dead art Of poetry; to maintain “the sublime” In the old scene. Wrong from the start No, hardly, but seeing
A Pact
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig-headed father; I am old enough now to
These Fought in Any Case
These fought in any case, And some believing Pro domo, in any case….. Died some, pro patria, Walked eye-deep in hell Believing in old men’s lies, then unbelieving Came home, home to a lie,
Notes for Canto CXX
I have tried to write Paradise Do not move Let the wind speak That is paradise. Let the Gods forgive what I Have made Let those I love try to forgive What I have
Silet
When I behold how black, immortal ink Drips from my deathless pen – ah, well-away! Why should we stop at all for what I think? There is enough in what I chance to say.
Villanelle: The Psychological Hour
I had over prepared the event, That much was ominous. With middle-ageing care I had laid out just the right books. I had almost turned down the pages. Beauty is so rare a thing.
The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
After Li Po While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played at the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat,
The Fault of It
Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak Of things we spoke of in our verses early, Saying: a lovely voice is such as such; Saying: that lady’s eyes were sad last
In the Old Age of the Soul
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
Sub Mare
It is, and is not, I am sane enough, Since you have come this place has hovered round me, This fabrication built of autumn roses, Then there’s a goldish colour, different. And one gropes
Epilogue
O chansons foregoing You were a seven days’ wonder. When you came out in the magazines You created considerable stir in Chicago, And now you are stale and worn out, You’re a very depleted
Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (Part I)
“Vocat aestus in umbram” Nemesianus Es. IV. E. P. Ode pour l’élection de son sépulchre For three years, out of key with his time, He strove to resuscitate the dead art Of poetry; to
Song
Winter is icummen in, Lhude sing Goddamm, Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm, Sing: Goddamm. Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us, An ague hath my ham. Freezeth river, turneth liver,