Tag: on Pound

Ezra Pound

2.089 slov

English original here

Americký básník a ikonoklasta, barvami hýřící Ezra Pound, jeden z nejvlivnějších umělců své generace, byl v letech 1945-1958 po obvinění z velezrady držen ve washingtonské psychiatrické léčebně. Pound se provinil jen tím, co dělal odjakživa: otevřeně říkal, co měl na srdci. Ke své škodě se však Ezra Pound za války ve svých rozhlasových pořadech z Itálie pustil do kritiky americké vlády, za což musel logicky skládat účty. Byl Ezra Pound prachsprostý vlastizrádce, nebo naopak prorok? Přečtěte si jeho slova a posuďte to sami. (more…)

1,479 words

Ezra Pound was arguably the finest American-born poet and a first rate Classical scholar. He happened to be born in Idaho, a state not noted for either its poets or Classicists. It was, however, a center of the American Populist Movement, which pitted the (usually family) farmer against the banks and railroads. (more…)

time: 7:56/36 words

(more…)

Miguel Serrano with a picture of Ezra Pound

1,136 words

Translated by Greg Johnson

From the end of the 1930s to the mid-1940s and beyond, I was greatly interested in the personality of the American poet Ezra Pound. I saw a lot of myself reflected in him. Indeed, during the Second World War he was opposed to the government of his country and embraced the cause of Italy and Germany. (more…)

623 words

“A slave is one who waits for someone else to free him.” — Ezra Pound

One of the ongoing projects of the North American New Right is the recovery of our tradition. One does not have to go too far back before one discovers that every great European thinker and artist is a “Right Wing extremist” by today’s standards. (more…)

2,465 words

Czech version here

From 1945 through 1958 America’s iconoclastic poet — the flamboyant Ezra Pound, one of the most influential individuals of his generation — was held in a Washington, D.C. mental institution, accused of treason. Pound had merely done what he had always done — spoken his mind. Unfortunately for Pound, however, he had made the error of criticizing the American government in a series of broadcasts from Italy during World War II. (more…)

The Dance of Death, 1474, fresco painting (Church of St. Mary, Beram, Croatia)

1,297 words

Translated by Tomislav Sunic

Ukrainian translation here

Ezra Pound, in his famous Canto XLV With Usura writes:  (more…)

Hieronymous Bosch, “Death and the Miser,” detail

2,448 words

Part 3 of 4

States that Broke the Bondage of Interest

Any efforts to advocate alternatives to banking that might extricate nations from the grip of the money-changers are dismissed as “funny money” (more…)

C. H. Douglas, founder of Social Credit

3,859 words

The Impetus from Catholic Social Doctrine

A significant impetus for financial and economic reconstruction was Catholic social doctrine. In many states such as Dollfuss’ Austria,[1] Salazar’s Portugal,[2] Franquist Spain, Vichy France, and as far away as Vargas’ Brazil, Papal Encyclicals provided the doctrinal foundations. The main feature of these “new states” was corporatist social and economic organization, replacing party parliaments with chambers representing all professions. (more…)

2,956 words

Part 1 of 4

“Money is merely the medium of trade. It is not wealth. It is only the transportation system, as it were, by which wealth is carried from one person to another.” — Father Charles Coughlin (1935) (more…)

Ezra Pound, drawn by Wyndham Lewis

1,906 words

Translated by Alex Kurtagic

Ezra Pound died in Venice on 2[1]November 1972, less than five years after our interview. I was in Spain, traversing that hard and ancient land. I had visited Ronda, down South, the city over the abyss, where Rilke once lived for a time. I had been reading Pound’s letters in the small museum that Spaniards have opened in the hotel where he once lived—his love letters to Lou Salomé, also lover and muse to Nietzsche.

(more…)

Open air cages in Pisa, where Ezra Pound was imprisoned by the American military for 25 days, until, they say, his mind broke

120 words

No, this is not a station in the metro,
this is an open cage outside of Pisa.
Ezra Pound now sits inside of it,
his beard a burning bush of grief made new.
Gazing at the moon, and looking retro,
the better craftsman grins to bars, and sees a
night of stars implode, his touched eyes lit
and posed for labour. If not he, then who
will scribble truth into a timeless croon?
Twenty-five days will pass before the good
guys offer him a tent, his face now wood,
his psyche worn by rain and sun and moon.
He leaves the cage, and is assisted in,
his mouth ajar, his grin not quite a grin.

Source: http://leoyankevich.com/archives/27