庞德

在这里你会发现长诗我是感性人诗人埃兹拉·庞德

我是感性人

我要结束的是我的国家,希望能纠正一些误解。我的国家吗?我很喜欢它,也喜欢那些好心人,因为他们的智慧不为人所知,逃过了绞刑架。但是你们这些既不温不火也不明显是北方人、拉皮条的、自负的、平静的、社论式的毛头小子,如果我能像在“复辟”时期那样说话,我就会说出你们的诅咒。今年我必须谨慎行事,因为门肯在这方面说过:“我们侵扰的是一个有道德的民族。”尽管有这样的约束和限制,我还是要尽我所能,艺术!大家尊重艺术,从婴儿的蜱虫现在Altantic的编辑,从康斯托克的自我,最低级的居民,直到再次,对吧,我们到达总统,他显示了他的品味大使:小说家,一个出版商支付宿怨,小说家,出版商和传教士,这是发送到荷兰,一个最特殊的功能,亨利·范·戴克认为魅力缪斯你包在一个臭气熏天的溶解的糖精。啊,苏格拉底,我们国家的宪法,就是用来孕育这些平庸之辈的,而这些平庸之辈和一个在费城百年纪念之前就在书中长盛不衰的国家。如果你能埋葬梅比、莱曼·艾博特和乔治·伍德伯里,我会更加尊敬你,因为那些完全建立在名言基础上的思想,并不是新生国家最好的脉搏。沉闷自己,那卑贱的灵魂,看到你那四十个自我洗礼的仙人,也在咯咯地笑,在海拉姆·马克西姆的《诗》前,把她的两颊紧紧抱住,让她那鼓胀的笑声震裂。 All one can say of this refining medium Is cZut! Cinque lettres!' a banished gallic idiom, Their doddering ignorance is waxed so notable 'Tis time that it was capped with something quotable. Here Radway grew, the fruit of pantosocracy, The very fairest flower of their gynocracy. Radway ? My hero, for it will be more inspiring If I set forth a bawdy plot like Byron Than if I treat the nation as a whole. Radway grew up. These forces shaped his soul; These, and yet God, and Dr. Parkhurst's god, the N.Y. Journal (Which pays him more per week than The Supernal). These and another godlet of that day, your day (You feed a hen on grease, perhaps she'll lay The sterile egg that is still eatable: 'Prolific Noyes' with output undefeatable). From these he (Radway) learnt, from provosts and from editors unyielding And innocent of Stendhal, Flaubert, Maupassant and Fielding. They set their mind (it's still in that condition) May we repeat; the Centennial Exposition At Philadelphia, 1876? What it knew then, it knows, and there it sticks. And yet another, a 'charming man', `sweet nature,' but was Gilder, De mortuis verum, truly the master builder? From these he learnt. Poe, Whitman, Whistler, men, their recognition Was got abroad, what better luck do you wish 'em, When writing well has not yet been forgiven In Boston, to Henry James, the greatest whom we've seen living. And timorous love of the innocuous Brought from Gt. Britain and dumped down a'top of us, Till you may take your choice: to feel the edge of satire or Read Bennett or some other flaccid flatterer. Despite it all, despite your Red Bloods, febrile concupiscence Whose blubbering yowls you take for passion's essence; Despite it all, your compound predilection For ignorance, its growth and its protection (Vide the tariff), I will hang simple facts Upon a tale, to combat other tracts, 'Message to Garcia,' Mosher's propagandas That are the nation's botts, collicks and glanders. Or from the feats of Sumner cull it? Think, Could Freud or Jung'unfathom such a sink? My hero, Radway, I have named, in truth, Some forces among those which 'formed' his youth: These heavy weights, these dodgers and these preachers, Crusaders, lecturers and secret lechers, Who wrought about his 'soul' their stale infection. These are the high-brows, and to this collection The social itch, the almost, all but, not quite, fascinating, Piquante, delicious, luscious, captivating: Puffed satin, and silk stockings, where the knee Clings to the skirt in strict (vide: 'Vogue') propriety. Three thousand chorus girls and all unkissed, state sans song, sans home-grown wine, sans realist! 'Tell me not in mournful wish-wash Life's a sort of sugared dish-wash!' Radway had read the various evening papers And yearned to imitate the Waldorf capers As held before him in that unsullied mirror The daily press, and monthlies nine cents dearer. They held the very marrow of the ideals That fed his spirit; were his mental meals. Also, he'd read of Christian virtues in That canting rag called Everybody's Magazine, And heard a clergy that tries on more wheezes Than e'er were