Humphrey Carpenter’s A Serious Character: the Life of Ezra Pound is a valuable biography. Pound was a significant figure in early twentieth century modernism, and it is important that he be recognised for his contributions, but also for his shortcomings. Carpenter is very fair on both.
Ezra was born into an average small-town Idaho family of average means and small-town habits and ideas. Ezra, however, was remarkable, in a few ways. He was very intelligent, and creative. Of even greater ultimate importance, however, were some characteristics which would usually, and definitely in my assessment, be considered flaws. These were elements which remained with him throughout his life, and which may be considered to have held him back from the sort of achievements of which he dreamt, and of which he could possibly have been capable.
Perhaps the main flaws could have been less destructive if they had been present singularly; in combination, they were powerful.
The first issue was that Ezra was vain in the extreme, and remained convinced until near the end of his life that he was destined to be a remarkable person… in some area. That is the second flaw: Pound never settled on anything, he darted about from idea to idea or project to project. If one of his plans had been pursued with any persistence, he might have produced something of value.
At school, he was known as “Professor” because of his polysyllabic vocabulary, but he was a careless speller; he was moderately good at Latin but weak at Greek. When he went to a military academy, he was derisory about drill. When he was twelve, he and his mother were taken on a European art tour by his aunt. He consequently felt superior because of his first-hand encounters with the art works, and felt no need for further study.
He attended the University of Pennsylvania as a fifteen year old but, with his results mediocre, he switched after a year to a college in New York. He soon decided the move had been unwise and tried to return to Pennsylvania, but for apparently unknown reasons did not. He ultimately graduated, returned to Penn for an MA, then won a fellowship for study for a doctorate but argued with his supervising academics, enrolled for multiple courses and attended each for only a short time before disappearing. His thesis was not progressing and he did not bother to submit his record book at year’s end, and never returned. Thereafter, he was vituperative about the university, right up until the time they awarded him an honorary doctorate some thirty years later; he readily accepted it but then publicly argued on stage with another recipient. During his undergraduate studies, he joined the chess club and the fencing club and caused amusement more than regard in both fields. He seems to have valued them as arcane activities, more or less as striking CV entries, but was indifferent in both.
Carpenter quotes him, “‘I knew at fifteen pretty much what I wanted to do,’ he wrote twelve years later. ‘I resolved at thirty I would know more about poetry than any man living, that I would know the dynamic content from the shell, that I would know what was accounted poetry everywhere.’” We could indulge that from a twelve year-old, perhaps from a fifteen year-old, but hardly from a man at 27 talking about himself as a thirty year-old.
In later life, he translated mediaeval French and Italian poetry, but without a strong knowledge of the original language, which was pointed out in reviews.
He made several fruitless attempts to establish a salon in London; he played around with Japanese and Chinese ideograms, but only as a dilletante dabbler (Carpenter reports “his belief that he could understand certain Chinese ideograms merely by staring at them.”), and he sought to translate Sextus Propertius despite his limited Latin, leading a University of Chicago professor to report that “‘ For sheer magnificence of blundering this is unsurpassable.’”
He wrote music reviews while proclaiming himself tone-deaf, and ignorant of musical notation. Eventually he began writing an opera, but did not complete it. He published How to Read despite admitting to reading little, and proposed a complete restructure of the reading curriculum.
Then in 1918 he encountered CH Douglas’s social credit writings, became convinced by them, and turned sharply to create his idea of expertise in economics, which eventually led to his involvement with Mussolini. He pushed his way into Mussolini’s circle, with his writing and radio broadcasts, although it is Carpenter’s conclusion that the Fascists were almost embarrassed by him, thinking him mad, and never replying to his communications.
I mentioned at the beginning of this review, two of Ezra Pound’s major flaws. His third, in my opinion, was that he assumed he could become an expert – in almost anything, apparently – without study or sustained hard work. This is amply demonstrated in the above paragraphs.
Much of Pound’s life seems to be encapsulated in a story Carpenter tells of his tennis-playing: Ezra would tell Giuseppe to hit anything that he himself missed, but otherwise to keep out of the way and leave it all to him. He would plunge wildly around the court, somehow managing to be in several places at once, so that very few volleys escaped him. Another young man who played with him describes ‘the Poundian brand of tennis’ as ‘eccentric, surprising, and scattershot, filled with bounding rushes, wheezes, shouts and many cries of “Egad” . It was evidently not only “the Poundian approach to tennis”, but “the Poundian approach to life.”
It is interesting that Pound became a confidant of a number of modernist authors. Most notable would be TS Eliot and James Joyce, both of whom valued, at times, his criticism of their work and his advice about modifications. His feel for poetry seems to have been perceptive, such that, if he had applied himself more purposefully to his own writing, he might well have produced much more worthy poetry. Meanwhile, he can be applauded for his assistance for Eliot and Joyce. And it might perhaps indicate a problem with modernism per se that his scattershot approach to poetry was not more frequently exposed.
His development of his “Cantos” caused some confusion: With thirty Cantos available in print, critics felt inclined to look for some evidence of structure and overall purpose in the work. Yeats had raised this matter with Ezra in Rapallo, saying that he had often found ‘some scene of distinguished beauty’ in a particular passage, but could not make out ‘why all the suits could not be dealt out in some quite different order’. Ezra told him what he always told people who asked this question. ‘He explains,’ said Yeats, ‘that it will, when the hundredth Canto is finished, display a structure.’ But this time Ezra went further. He told Yeats it would be ‘a structure like that of a Bach Fugue. There will be no plot, no chronicle of events, no logic of discourse, but two themes, the descent into Hades from Homer, a metamorphosis from Ovid, and mixed with these mediaeval or modern characters.’ An attempt at further elucidation might not have achieved its purpose: certain sets of letters that represent emotions or archetypal events… ABCD and then JKLM, and then each set of letters repeated, and then ABCD inverted and this repeated, and then a new element XYZ, then certain letters that never recur and then all sorts of combinations…”
I think Carpenter gets Pound’s realized achievements about right: “He was a dab hand at schoolboy mockery, and could produce some extremely funny if rather crude parodies, but the restraint and measured irony of the true satirist were not in his repertoire.” His wordplays (Yourpeeing for European; Yourup for Europe; the Nude Eel and Quackiatrist) are gently amusing but rarely as clever as Joyce’s. And Capenter is equally incisive on Pound’s overall methodology: His method might be summarised as, first, to have plenty of self-confidence; next, to lay his work out with a dash so that it looked plausible (for example, in his early attempts at musical notation he disguises his ignorance by the sheer flourish with which he jabs notes on the paper); and last, to get the ‘feel’ of a subject, picking up its jargon and the kind of questions that would interest real experts, thereby giving an impression of genuine knowledge…His performance was backed by an excellent memory, so that he retained, almost involuntarily, anything that had happened to catch his attention.
The final section of Ezra Pound’s life involved the post-war controversy attaching to his broadcasts from fascist Italy, and the subsequent trial and his incarceration in a mental hospital. Humphrey Carpenter is, again, very thorough and very fair, and his account of the part played by psychologists is fascinating. It was all a terribly sad ending, though, so that in the 1960s, increasingly ill, depressed, disconnected, he became convinced he had done wide damage, “evil”. “ ‘I spoil everything I touch. I have always blundered… All my life I believed I knew something. But then one strange day came when I realised that I knew nothing, yes, I knew nothing. And so words became void of meaning… I have arrived too late at ultimate uncertainty.’”
Ezra Pound was a man of significant talent, whose significant Icarus-like ambition was, perhaps only because of his significant flaws, never realised. One completes reading Humphrey Carpenter’s biography feeling a much better acquaintance with Pound.