Poem: Teaching Ezra Pound's Cantos

By

'Was he a hero?

'Was he a villain?

'He was modern

'Madman.

'No he wasn't, was he?

'He was - old- ancient - eternal-- 

Aeneas come from the shades of Avernus

Odyseuss out of Circe's ingle

Dionysus at Naxos

Metamorphosized 


Into Hemingway's saint 
On the rue-Notre-Dame-des-Champs
Consorting with frogs,
Conjuring up opium jars
For indigent, insolent poets.

Il Miglior Fabbro, no less.
Capisce, Eliot?
Il Duce claimed him
Pisa chained him
To the Muse of hard labour

Much reviled
and admired much

He carried his 'isness' 
across continents 
(Hondh, says the Punjabi sage)

Luminous in the moonlight
Sato's sword unsheathed -
Master Kung's Fu
- Senryu no Michi

Subject rhymes,
Cavalcanti
Cavalcades
Concourses (Concertos?) 
Crowns and Capital capsized

Omnia quae sunt, lumina sunt
Deorum Manium, Flamen Dialis ... 

OI X0ONIOI

Venerandam 








* From the collection Riverbeds Flowing 

Hi ! Welcome here to my personal blog �� My pen-name appears usually as 'Omer Tarin' in most searches and sometimes as 'Omar Tarin'

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Night thoughts (September 2025)

By
What are these black thoughts, clutching at my heart? Whispers in the dark, shadows that never part. They consume me, piece by piece Leaving emptiness in their wake A longing for paths not taken, Dreams deferred, that arise now Out of some unknown depth, and call out In somber voices, echoing throughout the length Of my hollow chambers, where ghostly figures dance And darkness gathers, like dust and age But still I breathe, in this empty space,  A fragile pulse beats, a flickering light That casts a gentle glow upon the darkest walls Guiding me subtly through the night
Read more

Poem: Excerpt 5

By
  In the dead of winter I wept Praying and prostrating myself Upon the cloth of your infinite compassion;   Were I a musician, I would express your elusiveness In symphony, Weaving songs on violins;   Were I a poet, I would declaim your mystery In rhapsody, Walking soundlessly on words;   I am neither tonight   Never having learned, I am not adept At recalling An event that transcends All attempts, Transcends language and form, Transcends communication Into the fatal realization Of my own meaningless;   Half-veiled,my friend, I solicit the madness Which is past cure; Burnt am I, out of all delusion, Groveling in a delightful insanity;   At times, I may come Close to loving you.               ---------    -----------------------------    --------------- -------------- From Canto 8, The Harvest Season of Love Songs, 1...
Read more

Poem: Excerpt 6

By
  Dawn lingered over the river,                     Unearthly hues dancing across The conical heights of snowbound ranges Yawning in pantomime, Shivering in anticipation Of the sun’s warm promise;   When the icicles melt Life returns To pools of frozen crystal, Once again, waters meandering down To the great, roaring torrent;   Once again, The soul’s immemorial longings cascade;               --------   ---------------- ------------------ ------------------ ------------------ From Canto 3, The Harvest Season of Love Songs, 1997    
Read more