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624 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1971
Of certain Symbolist premises as well: the Symbolist willingness to life words out of "usage," free their affinities, permit them new combinations. Cydonian Spring, not Cydonian fruits which are quinces, and malides nymphs, not apples, apple-nymphs moreover, not the flock-nymphs of the Lexicon, and with an invented name, Maelids, which John Quinn in the American proofs of Lustra tried to correct to Meliads but Pound in Personae and in Canto III retained in the form he preferred, a word that ought to exist. (142)
Herr Bacher's father made Madonnas still in the tradition
carved wood as you might have found it in any cathedral
and another Bacher still cut intaglios
such as Salustio's in the time of Ixotta,
where the masks come from, in the Tirol,
in the winter season
searching every house to drive out the demons.
I have tried to write Paradise
Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.
Let the Gods forgive what I
have made
Let those I love try to forgive
what I have made.
Kenner's also a stylish writer capable of lovely flights of lyricism, and between that and a penchant for snark (poor Amy Lowell gets savaged pretty mercilessly), this book is never a drag the way some works of literary criticism can be. It tells a compelling story of Pound's career and his importance in the context of the modernist movement of the early-to-mid 20th century, rooted in close reading of his poetry and garnished with dabblings into Joyce, William Carlos Williams, T.S. Eliot, and Wyndham Lewis, among others. The depth of insight Kenner shows into Pound's poetry and his intellectual commitments is hard to overstate; he makes a strong case for Pound's opaque genius by highlighting the development of his poetic craft and The Cantos as a doomed masterwork whose craft was partially overshadowed by the scale of its creator's ambition. Though this is pure speculation, I'd wager that this book is largely responsible for saving Pound from a fate as a literary footnote in relation to his much-more-successful peers like Eliot and Joyce, alongside others who are barely mentioned in this book (e.g., Virginia Woolf). My one complaint is that Kenner largely gives Pound a pass for the complicity with Italian fascism during WWII that marred the final phase of his life and career; I don't know much about that part of his life, but I have to believe there's a lot more to say about it than Kenner offers here. Still, this is an astounding work, whatever one's feelings about the poet at the centre of its (ahem) vortex, and anybody interested in the modernists, or in poetry, or in the history of literature in English should read it.