Monday, April 06, 2009

33 minutes to midnight

and I almost didn't post today. Would have been tragic. Tragic and completely anticipated.

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
(from "The Burial of the Dead," The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot)

In a Station of the Metro
Ezra Pound

The apparation of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.


Lekili said...

Some great imagery in those lines, but I would have to disagree about April being the cruelest month. April is the month I found greater joy than I'd ever known when my first beautiful daughter came into my life...Miss Sarah Elizabeth. I think April is a lovely month of new beginnings and new growth. And its the month we get to celebrate April 13th. Wahoo!

Aislin said...

That is probably the only Pound piece I like. And it's one of my very favorite pieces.

Ginsberg said...

Three cheers for modernism! Really. That wasn't some postmodern snob's critique of their pretentiousness. So maybe Eliot's footnotes are a bit annoying and over-the-top. So maybe Pound did turn into a fascist. They still wrote some amazing stuff, as this post evidences.


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