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Best Famous Ezra Pound Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Ezra Pound poems. This is a select list of the best famous Ezra Pound poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Ezra Pound poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Ezra Pound poems.

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by Ezra Pound |

The Plunge

 I would bathe myself in strangeness:
These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!
I burn, I scald so for the new,
New friends, new faces,
Places!
Oh to be out of this,
This that is all I wanted
- save the new.
And you, Love, you the much, the more desired! Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones, All mire, mist, all fog, All ways of traffic? You, I wold have flow over me like water, Oh, but far out of this! Grass, and low fields, and hills, And sun, Oh, sun enough! Out, and alone, among some Alien people!


by Ezra Pound |

A Virginal

 No, no! Go from me.
I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, For my surrounding air hath a new lightness; Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther; As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me.
I have still the flavour, Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour: As white as their bark, so white this lady's hours.


by Ezra Pound |

Before Sleep

 The lateral vibrations caress me, 
They leap and caress me, 
They work pathetically in my favour, 
They seek my financial good.
She of the spear stands present.
The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis, These are they of thy company.
With a pathetic solicitude they attend me; Undulant, Their realm is the lateral courses.
Light! I am up to follow thee, Pallas.
Up and out of their caresses.
You were gone up as a rocket, Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right In the flat projection of a spiral.
The gods of drugged sleep attend me, Wishing me well; I am up to follow thee, Pallas.


by Ezra Pound |

Notes for Canto CXX

 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.


by Ezra Pound |

The Fault of It

 Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak
Of things we spoke of in our verses early,
Saying: a lovely voice is such as such;
Saying: that lady's eyes were sad last week,
Wherein the world's whole joy is born and dies;
Saying: she hath this way or that, this much
Of grace, this way or that, this much
Of grace, this little misericorde;
Ask us no further word;
If we were proud, then proud to be so wise
Ask us no more of all the things ye heard;
We may not speak of them, they touch us nearly.


by Ezra Pound |

Song in the Manner of Housman

 O woe, woe, 
People are born and die, 
We also shall be dead pretty soon 
Therefore let us act as if we were 
dead already.
The bird sits on the hawthorn tree But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera .
.
.
.
London is a woeful place, Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space Upon fond nature's morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera .
.
.


by Ezra Pound |

Before Sleep

 I was in love with anatomy
the symmetry of my body
poised for flight,
the heights it would take
over parents, lovers, a keen
riding over truth and detail.
I thought growing up would be this rising from everything old and earthly, not these faltering steps out the door every day, then back again.


by Ezra Pound |

Salutation

 In one salutation to thee, my God, 
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.
Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.
Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one salutation to thee.


by Amy Lowell |

Astigmatism

 To Ezra Pound;With 
much friendship and admiration and some differences of opinion


by David Lehman |

With Tenure

 If Ezra Pound were alive today
 (and he is)
he'd be teaching
at a small college in the Pacific Northwest
and attending the annual convention
of writing instructors in St.
Louis and railing against tenure, saying tenure is a ladder whose rungs slip out from under the scholar as he climbs upwards to empty heaven by the angels abandoned for tenure killeth the spirit (with tenure no man becomes master) Texts are unwritten with tenure, under the microscope, sous rature it turneth the scholar into a drone decayeth the pipe in his jacket's breast pocket.
Hamlet was not written with tenure, nor were written Schubert's lieder nor Manet's Olympia painted with tenure.
No man of genius rises by tenure Nor woman (I see you smile).
Picasso came not by tenure nor Charlie Parker; Came not by tenure Wallace Stevens Not by tenure Marcel Proust Nor Turner by tenure With tenure hath only the mediocre a sinecure unto death.
Unto death, I say! WITH TENURE Nature is constipated the sap doesn't flow With tenure the classroom is empty et in academia ego the ketchup is stuck inside the bottle the letter goes unanswered the bell doesn't ring.