Ladies
Agathas
Four and forty lovers had Agathas in the old days,
All of whom she refused;
And now she turns to me seeking love,
And her hair also is turning.
Young Lady
I have fed your lar with poppies,
I have adored you for three full years;
And now you grumble because your dress does not fit
And because I happen to say so.
Lesbia Illa
Memnon, Menmon, that lady
Who used to walk about amongst us
With such gracious uncertainty,
Is now wedded
To a British householder.
Lugete, Veneres! Lugete, Cupidinesque !
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Alf’s Seventh Bit
Did I 'ear it 'arf in a doze:
The Co-ops was a goin' somewhere,
Did I 'ear it while pickin' 'ops;
How they better start takin' care,
That the papers were gettin' together
And the larger stores were likewise
Considering something that would, as you
Might say, be a surprise
To the Co-ops, a echo or somethin'?
They tell me that branded goods
Don't get a discount like Mr. Selfridge
Of 25 per cent, on their ads., and the woods
Is where the Co-ops are goin' to,
And that Oxford Street site
Is not suited to co-operation
A sort of'Arab's dream in the night.
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Prayer For His Lady’s Life
FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26
Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,
Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.
So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus,
Ye might let one remain above with us.
With you is lope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro,
With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae,
And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia,
From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus;
And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were,
They died and the greed of your flame consumes them.
Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm.
Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.
So many thousandfair are gone down to Avernus,
Ye might let one remain above with us.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Au Jardin
O you away high there,
you that lean
From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,
I am below amid the pine trees,
Amid the little pine trees, hear me!
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
Well, there's no use your loving me
That way, Lady;
For I've nothing but songs to give you.
I am set wide upon the world's ways
To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,
But you never string two days upon one wire
But there'll come sorrow of it.
And I loved a love once,
Over beyond the moon there,
I loved a love once,
And, may be, more times,
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Dans Un Omnibus De Londres
Les yeux d'une morte
M'ont salué,
Enchassés dans un visage stupide
Dont tous les autres traits étaient banals,
Ils m'ont salué
Et alors je vis bien des choses
Au dedans de ma mémoire
Remuer,
S'éveiller.
Je vis des canards sur le bord d'un lac minuscule,
Auprè
s d'un petit enfant gai, bossu.
Je vis les colonnes anciennes en ctoc'
Du Pare Monceau,
Et deux petites filles graciles,
Des patriciennes,
aux toisons couleur de lin,
Et des pigeonnes
Grasses
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Alf’s Sixth Bit
Let some new lying ass,
Who knows not what is or was,
Talk economics,
Pay for his witless noise,
Get the kid nice new toys,
Call him 'professor'.
Lies from the specialist
Give t'old ones a newer twist
Harder to untie.
Here comes the hired gang
Blood on each tired fang
Covered with lip-stick.
'Oh, what a charming man,'
That's how the press blurb ran,
'Professor K s is.'
Now they can't fire him.
NO! they won't hire him.
Still Dr. S 's
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poem by Ezra Pound
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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.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Histrion
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.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Charge Of The Bread Brigade
Half a loaf, half a loaf,
Half a loaf? Urn-hum?
Down through the vale of gloom
Slouched the ten million,
Onward th' 'ungry blokes,
Crackin' their smutty jokes!
We'll send 'em mouchin' 'ome,
Damn the ten million!
There goes the night brigade,
They got no steady trade,
Several old so'jers know
Monty has blunder'd.
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to buy the pie,
Slouching and mouching,
Lousy ten million!
Plenty to right of 'em,
Plenty to left of 'em,
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Ole Kate
When I was only a youngster,
Sing: toodle doodlede ootl
Ole Kate would git her 'arf a pint
And wouldn't' giv' a damn hoot.
'Them stairs! them stairs, them gordam stairs
Will be the death of me/
I never heerd her say nothin'
About the priv'lege of liberty.
She'd come a sweatin' up with the coals
An a-sloshin' round with 'er mop,
Startin' in about 6 a.m.
And didn't seem never to stop.
She died on the job they tells me,
Fell plump into her pail.
Never got properly tanked as I saw,
And never got took to jail,
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poem by Ezra Pound
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