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Thread: The Cantos

  1. #61
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    Last edited by Corpsey; 21-01-2020 at 11:42 AM.

  2. #62


    What are you on about Corpse?

  3. #63
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    I noticed a destructive pattern developing that I've followed before and so elected to sledgehammer fuck out of it

  4. #64


    I thought you were having a breakdown or something.

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  6. #65
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    Nah I just realised I'm poking my nose in here just to disrupt things

  7. #66


    You're allowed to talk about Ezra Pound, Corpse. Luke won't attack you.

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  9. #67


    If he does I'll get him for you.

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  11. #68
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    I have nothing to say.

  12. #69
    Join Date
    Nov 2004
    leigh on sea


    this is one of my favourites:

    Canto LXXXI
    Zeus lies in Ceres’ bosom
    Taishan is attended of loves
    under Cythera, before sunrise
    And he said: “Hay aquí mucho catolicismo—(sounded
    y muy poco reliHion.”
    and he said: “Yo creo que los reyes desparecen”
    (Kings will, I think, disappear)
    This was Padre José Elizondo
    in 1906 and in 1917
    or about 1917
    and Dolores said: “Come pan, niño,” eat bread, me lad
    Sargent had painted her
    before he descended
    (i.e. if he descended
    but in those days he did thumb sketches,
    impressions of the Velázquez in the Museo del Prado
    and books cost a peseta,
    brass candlesticks in proportion,
    hot wind came from the marshes
    and death-chill from the mountains.
    And later Bowers wrote: “but such hatred,
    I have never conceived such”
    and the London reds wouldn’t show up his friends
    (i.e. friends of Franco
    working in London) and in Alcázar
    forty years gone, they said: go back to the station to eat
    you can sleep here for a peseta”
    goat bells tinkled all night
    and the hostess grinned: Eso es luto, haw!
    mi marido es muerto
    (it is mourning, my husband is dead)
    when she gave me a paper to write on
    with a black border half an inch or more deep,
    say 5/8ths, of the locanda
    “We call all foreigners frenchies”
    and the egg broke in Cabranez’ pocket,
    thus making history. Basil says
    they beat drums for three days
    till all the drumheads were busted
    (simple village fiesta)
    and as for his life in the Canaries…
    Possum observed that the local portagoose folk dance
    was danced by the same dancers in divers localities
    in political welcome…
    the technique of demonstration
    Cole studied that (not G.D.H., Horace)
    “You will find” said old André Spire,
    that every man on that board (Crédit Agricole)
    has a brother-in-law
    “You the one, I the few”
    said John Adams
    speaking of fears in the abstract
    to his volatile friend Mr Jefferson.
    (To break the pentameter, that was the first heave)
    or as Jo Bard says: they never speak to each other,
    if it is baker and concierge visibly
    it is La Rouchefoucauld and de Maintenon audibly.
    “Te cavero le budella”
    “La corata a te”
    In less than a geological epoch
    said Henry Mencken
    “Some cook, some do not cook
    some things cannot be altered”
    ’Iugx. . . . . ’emòn potí dwma aòn andra
    What counts is the cultural level,
    thank Benin for this table ex packing box
    “doan yu tell no one I made it”
    from a mask fine as any in Frankfurt
    “It’ll get you offn th’ groun”
    Light as the branch of Kuanon
    And at first disappointed with shoddy
    the bare ram-shackle quais, but then saw the
    high buggy wheels
    and was reconciled,
    George Santayana arriving in the port of Boston
    and kept to the end of his life that faint thethear
    of the Spaniard
    as grace quasi imperceptible
    as did Muss the v for u of Romagna
    and said the grief was a full act
    repeated for each new condoleress
    working up to a climax.
    and George Horace said he wd/ “get Beveridge” (Senator)
    Beveridge wouldn’t talk and he wouldn’t write for the papers
    but George got him by campin’ in his hotel
    and assailin’ him at lunch breakfast an’ dinner
    three articles
    and my ole man went on hoein’ corn
    while George was a-tellin’ him,
    come across a vacant lot
    where you’d occasionally see a wild rabbit
    or mebbe only a loose one
    a leaf in the current
    at my grates no Althea

    Ere the season died a-cold
    Borne upon a zephyr’s shoulder
    I rose through the aureate sky
    Lawes and Jenkyns guard thy rest
    Dolmetsch ever be thy guest,
    Has he tempered the viol’s wood
    To enforce both the grave and the acute?
    Has he curved us the bowl of the lute?
    Lawes and Jenkyns guard thy rest
    Dolmetsch ever be thy guest
    Hast ’ou fashioned so airy a mood
    To draw up leaf from the root?
    Hast ’ou found a cloud so light
    As seemed neither mist nor shade?

    Then resolve me, tell me aright
    If Waller sang or Dowland played

    Your eyen two wol sleye me sodenly
    I may the beauté of hem nat susteyne

    And for 180 years almost nothing.

    Ed ascoltando al leggier mormorio
    there came new subtlety of eyes into my tent,
    whether of the spirit or hypostasis,
    but what the blindfold hides
    or at carneval
    nor any pair showed anger
    Saw but the eyes and stance between the eyes,
    colour, diastasis,
    careless or unaware it had not the
    whole tent’s room
    nor was place for the full EidwV
    interpass, penetrate
    casting but shade beyond the other lights
    sky’s clear
    night’s sea
    green of the mountain pool
    shone from the unmasked eyes in half-mask’s space.
    What thou lovest well remains,
    the rest is dross
    What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee
    What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage
    Whose world, or mine or theirs
    or is it of none?
    First came the seen, then thus the palpable
    Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
    What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
    What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee

    The ant’s a centaur in his dragon world.
    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
    In scaled invention or true artistry,
    Pull down thy vanity,
    Paquin pull down!
    The green casque has outdone your elegance.

    “Master thyself, then others shall thee beare”
    Pull down thy vanity
    Thou art a beaten dog beneath the hail,
    A swollen magpie in a fitful sun,
    Half black half white
    Nor knowst’ou wing from tail
    Pull down thy vanity
    How mean thy hates
    Fostered in falsity,
    Pull down thy vanity,
    Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,
    Pull down thy vanity,
    I say pull down.

    But to have done instead of not doing
    this is not vanity
    To have, with decency, knocked
    That a Blunt should open
    To have gathered from the air a live tradition
    or from a fine old eye the unconquered flame
    This is not vanity.
    Here error is all in the not done,
    all in the diffidence that faltered . . .

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  14. #70
    Join Date
    Nov 2004
    leigh on sea


    those lines:
    To have gathered from the air a live tradition
    or from a fine old eye the unconquered flame
    This is not vanity.

    feel like an epitaph.

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  16. #71
    Join Date
    Jan 2018


    Quote Originally Posted by poetix View Post
    My daughter - the teenage one, not the six-month-old - came into the room while I was slowly incanting one of the Cantos in this thread to myself, mock-Pound style, and I had to explain to her what I was doing. Something about the way it's written makes you read it slowly, sonorously. You could try rapping it I suppose, but it seems to have its own internal drag. It wants to pull you into its own sound-world.
    I like this reading luka posted in another thread --

    Canto CXVI

    Came Neptunus
    his mind leaping
    like dolphins
    These concepts the human mind has attained.
    To make Cosmos ---
    To achieve the possible ---
    Muss., wrecked for an error,
    But the record
    the palimpsest ---
    a little light
    in great darkness ---
    cuniculi ---
    An old “crank” dead in Virginia.
    Unprepared young burdened with records,
    The vision of the Madonna
    above the cigar butts
    and over the portal.
    “Have made a mass of laws”
    (mucchio di leggi)
    Litterae nihil sanantes
    a tangle of works unfinished.
    I have brought the great ball of crystal;
    who can lift it?
    Can you enter the great acorn of light?
    But the beauty is not the madness
    Tho’ my errors and wrecks lie about me.
    And I am not a demigod,
    I cannot make it cohere.
    If love be not in the house there is nothing.
    The voice of famine unheard.
    How came beauty against this blackness,
    Twice beauty under the elms ---
    To be saved by squirrels and bluejays?
    “plus j’aime le chien”
    Disney against the metaphysicals,
    and Laforgue more than they thought in him,
    Spire thanked me in proposito
    And I have learned more from Jules
    (Jules Laforgue) since then
    deeps in him,
    And Linnaeus.
    chi crescerà i nostri ---
    but about that terzo
    third heaven,
    that Venere,
    again is all “paradiso”
    a nice quiet paradise
    over the shambles,
    and some climbing
    before the take-off,
    to “see again,”
    the verb is “see,” not ‘walk on”
    i.e. it coheres all right
    even if my notes do not cohere.
    Many errors,
    a little rightness,
    to excuse his hell
    and my paradiso.
    And as to why they go wrong,
    thinking of rightness
    And as to who will copy this palimpsest?
    al poco giorno
    ed al gran cerchio d’ombra
    But to affirm the gold thread in the pattern
    al Vicolo d’oro
    To confess wrong without losing rightness:
    Charity I have had sometimes,
    I cannot make it flow thru.
    A little light, like a rushlight
    to lead back to splendour.

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  18. #72
    Join Date
    Jan 2018


    I'm leaning closer and closer to buying the big book of them on Amazon.

  19. #73
    Join Date
    Oct 2004


    You'd be mad not to. It's a book you'll read for the rest of your life.

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