Ezra Pound

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Modern American Poetry
Ezra Pound (1885 - 1972)

Ezra Pound u lind me 1885 ne Hailey, Idaho, nje qytet shume i vogel. Pas vitesh universitare te palumtura, ai levizi ne Evrope para Luftes se Pare Boterore. Atje, nderkohe qe publikonte poezi dhe punonte si sekretar per poetin irlandez William Butler Yeats, Pound ndihmoi te gjenin vetveten disa gjigante te mevonshem te letersise boterore si T.S. Eliot, Robert Frost, dhe James Joyce.

Ezra Pound eshte konsideruar nje nga poetet me te pergjegjshem per perkufizimin dhe prosperitetin modernist te poezise estetike. Ne fillimet e shek. te 20-te, ai hapi nje program per shkembimin e puneve dhe ideve midis shkrimtareve britanike dhe amerikane, dhe u be i famshem per zemergjeresine me te cilen ai i hapi rrugen punes se disa bashkohoreve sic ishte W. B. Yeats, James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway dhe sidomos T. S. Eliot.

Puna e tij me te cilen ai kontribuoi ne poezi filloi me hapjen apo prezantimin qe ai i beri letersise boterore me Imagism (qe rrjedh nga fjala image-imazh). Levizje poetike e Shek te 20-te qe konsistonte ne vargje te lira dhe shprehje idesh dhe ndjenjash permes imazheve reale. Kjo levizje poetike rridhte nga teknika e poezise klasike kineze dhe japoneze - e cila nenvizon nje stil te shprehuri te qarte dhe preciz, perdorimin e fjaleve ekzakte ne vend te fjaleve te peraferta per te shprehur dicka, perdorimin e vargjeve te lira ne vend te atyre konform nje forme standarte, liri absolute ne zgjedhjen e subjektit, prezantimin e nje imazhi konkret ne vend te imazheve te turbullta, konfuze per hir te ngacmimit te imagjinates. :)

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A Girl
by: Ezra Pound

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

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Portrait D'une Femme
by: Ezra Pound

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you--lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind--with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale or two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.

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O generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.

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Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.

Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.

And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,

Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.

[~xX`.:§¤§:.`Xx~]

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

[Leila]

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.

Alba

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.