E.P. Ode Pour L'election De Son Sepulchre by Ezra Pound
For three years, out of key with his time, He strove to resuscitate the dead art Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime" In the old sense. Wrong from the start--
No, hardly, but seeing he had been born In a half savage country, out of date; Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn; Capaneus; trout for factitious bait;
Idmen gar toi panth, hos eni troie Caught in the unstopped ear; Giving the rocks small lee-way The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year.
His true Penelope was Flaubert, He fished by obstinate isles; Observed the elegance of Circe's hair Rather than the mottoes on sun-dials.
Unaffected by "the march of events," He passed from men's memory in l'an trentuniesme de son eage;the case presents No adjunct to the Muses' diadem.
II The age demanded an image Of its accelerated grimace, Something for the modern stage Not, at any rate, an Attic grace;
Not, certainly, the obscure reveries Of the inward gaze; Better mendacities Than the classics in paraphrase!
The "age demanded" chiefly a mould in plaster, Made with no loss of time, A prose kinema, not, not assuredly, alabaster Or the "sculpture" of rhyme.
III The tea-rose tea-gown, etc. Supplants the mousseline of Cos, The pianola "replaces" Sappho's barbitos.
Christ follows Dionysus, Phallic and ambrosial Made way for macerations; Caliban casts out Ariel.
All things are a flowing Sage Heracleitus say; But a tawdry cheapness Shall outlast our days.
Even the Christian beauty Defects--after Samothrace; We see to kalon Decreed in the market place.
Faun's flesh is not to us, Nor the saint's vision. We have the press for wafer; Franchise for circumcision.
All men, in law, are equals. Free of Pisistratus, We choose a knave or an eunuch To rule over us.
O bright Apollo, Tin andra, tin heroa, tina theon, What god, man or hero Shall I place a tin wreath upon!
IV These fought in any case, And some believing, pro domo, in any case...
Some quick to arm, some for adventure, some from fear of weakness, some from fear of censure, some for love of slaughter, in imagination, learning later... some in fear, learning love of slaughter;
Died some, pro patria, non "dulce" not "et decor"... walked eye-deep in hell believing old men's lies, then unbelieving came home, home to a lie, home to many deceits, home to old lies and new infamy; usury age-old and age-thick and liars in public places.
Daring as never before, wastage as never before. Young blood and high blood, fair cheeks, and fine bodies;
fortitude as never before
frankness as never before, disillusions as never told in the old days, hysterias, trench confessions, laughter out of dead bellies.
V There died a myriad, And of the best, among them, For an old bitch gone in the teeth, For a botched civilization,
Charm, smiling at the good mouth, Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,
For two gross of broken statues, For a few thousand battered books.