We were told by Ezra Pound that we were told by Ezra Pound. A net appears and fish swim to capture. That much of love inspires and instills a constancy to process. The fish will go away as simple lifesparks but the observer becomes practical in need and almost (slowly) in interest. Poetry survives the crisis of being poetry when crisis becomes sanitary and gobsmacked with unbecoming and strickened advance towards goals of favour, clangour, or simple mulch. How tall was Pound at midday or later then? A cess and a say, boiled together with Martian spoke weird staring at you the consequence. Anyway. Why would poetry be important? Moreso: why would important be poetry? He leaves the wet leaves behind while readers bend in every way.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
Comments