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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391158" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Canto III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Another's a half-cracked fellow—John Heydon, <br>Worker of miracles, dealer in levitation, <br>In thoughts upon pure form, in alchemy, <br>Seer of pretty visions ('servant of God and secretary of nature'); <br>Full of plaintive charm, like Botticelli's, <br>With half-transparent forms, lacking the vigor of gods. <br>Thus Heydon, in a trance, at Bulverton, <br>Had such a sight: <br>Decked all in green, with sleeves of yellow silk <br>Slit to the elbow, slashed with various purples. <br>Her eyes were green as glass, her foot was leaf-like. <br>She was adorned with choicest emeralds, <br>And promised him the way of holy wisdom. <br>'Pretty green bank,' began the half-lost poem. <br>Take the old way, say I met John Heydon, <br>Sought out the place, <br>Lay on the bank, was 'plungèd deep in swevyn;' <br>And saw the company—Layamon, Chaucer— <br>Pass each in his appropriate robes; <br>Conversed with each, observed the varying fashion. <br>And then comes Heydon. <br>'I have seen John Heydon.' <br>Let us hear John Heydon! <br>'Omniformis <br>Omnis intellectus est'—thus he begins, by spouting half of Psellus. <br>(Then comes a note, my assiduous commentator: <br>Not Psellus De Daemonibus, but Porphyry's Chances, <br>In the thirteenth chapter, that 'every intellect is omni-form.') <br>Magnifico Lorenzo used the dodge, <br>Says that he met Ficino <br>In some Wordsworthian, false-pastoral manner, <br>And that they walked along, stopped at a well-head, <br>And heard deep platitudes about contentment <br>From some old codger with an endless beard. <br>'A daemon is not a particular intellect, <br>But is a substance differed from intellect,' <br>Breaks in Ficino, <br>'Placed in the latitude or locus of souls'— <br>That's out of Proclus, take your pick of them. <br>Valla, more earth and sounder rhetoric— <br>Prefacing praise to his Pope Nicholas: <br>'A man of parts, skilled in the subtlest sciences; <br>A patron of the arts, of poetry; and of a fine discernment.' <br>Then comes a catalogue, his jewels of conversation. <br>No, you've not read your Elegantiae— <br>A dull book?—shook the church. <br>The prefaces, cut clear and hard: <br>'Know then the Roman speech, a sacrament,' <br>Spread for the nations, eucharist of wisdom, <br>Bread of the liberal arts. <br>Ha! Sir Blancatz, <br>Sordello would have your heart to give to all the princes; <br>Valla, the heart of Rome, <br>Sustaining speech, set out before the people. <br>'Nec bonus Christianus ac bonus <br>Tullianus.' <br>Marius, Du Bellay, wept for the buildings, <br>Baldassar Castiglione saw Raphael <br>'Lead back the soul into its dead, waste dwelling,' <br>Corpore laniato; and Lorenzo Valla, <br>'Broken in middle life? bent to submission?— <br>Took a fat living from the Papacy' <br>(That's in Villari, but Burckhardt's statement is different)— <br>'More than the Roman city, the Roman speech' <br>(Holds fast its part among the ever-living). <br>'Not by the eagles only was Rome measured.' <br>'Wherever the Roman speech was, there was Rome,' <br>Wherever the speech crept, there was mastery <br>Spoke with the law's voice while your Greek, logicians... <br>More Greeks than one! Doughty's 'divine Homeros' <br>Came before sophistry. Justinopolitan <br>Uncatalogued Andreas Divus, <br>Gave him in Latin, 1538 in my edition, the rest uncertain, <br>Caught up his cadence, word and syllable: <br>'Down to the ships we went, set mast and sail, <br>Black keel and beasts for bloody sacrifice, <br>Weeping we went.' <br>I've strained my ear for -ensa, -ombra, and -ensa <br>And cracked my wit on delicate canzoni— <br>Here's but rough meaning: <br>'And then went down to the ship, set keel to breakers, <br>Forth on the godly sea; <br>We set up mast and sail on the swarthy ship, <br>Sheep bore we aboard her, and our bodies also <br>Heavy with weeping. And winds from sternward <br>Bore us out onward with bellying canvas— <br>Circe's this craft, the trim-coifed goddess. <br>Then sat we amidships, wind jamming the tiller. <br>Thus with stretched sail <br>We went over sea till day's end: <br>Sun to his slumber, shadows o'er all the ocean. <br>Came we then to the bounds of deepest water, <br>To the Kimmerian lands and peopled cities <br>Covered with close-webbed mist, unpiercèd ever <br>With glitter of sun-rays, <br>Nor with stars stretched, nor looking back from heaven, <br>Swartest night stretched over wretched men there. <br>Thither we in that ship, unladed sheep there, <br>The ocean flowing backward, came we through to the place <br>Aforesaid by Circe. <br>Here did they rites, Perimedes and Eurylochus, <br>And drawing sword from my hip <br>I dug the ell-square pitkin, poured we libations unto each the dead, <br>First mead and then sweet wine, <br>Water mixed with white flour. <br>Then prayed I many a prayer to the sickly death's-heads <br>As set in Ithaca, sterile bulls of the best, <br>For sacrifice, heaping the pyre with goods. <br>Sheep, to Tiresias only, <br>Black, and a bell sheep; <br>Dark blood flowed in the fosse. <br>Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead <br>Of brides, of youths, and of many passing old, <br>Virgins tender, souls stained with recent tears, <br>Many men mauled with bronze lance-heads, <br>Battle spoil, bearing yet dreary arms: <br>These many crowded about me, <br>With shouting, pallor upon me, cried to my men for more beasts; <br>Slaughtered the herds—sheep slain of bronze, <br>Poured ointment, cried to the gods, <br>To Pluto the strong, and praised Proserpine. <br>Unsheathed the narrow steel, <br>I sat to keep off the impetuous, impotent dead <br>Till I should hear Tiresias. <br>But first Elpenor came, our friend Elpenor, <br>Unburied, cast on the wide earth— <br>Limbs that we left in the house of Circe, <br>Unwept, unwrapped in sepulchre, since toils urged other, <br>Pitiful spirit—and I cried in hurried speech: <br>'Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast? <br>Cam'st thou afoot, outstripping seamen?' And he in heavy speech: <br>'Ill fate and abundant wine! I slept in Circe's ingle, <br>Going down the long ladder unguarded, I fell against the buttress, <br>Shattered the nape-nerve, the soul sought Avernus. <br>But thou, O King, I bid remember me, unwept, unburied! <br>Heap up mine arms, be tomb by the sea-board, and inscribed, <br>A man of no fortune and with a name to come; <br>And set my oar up, that I swung 'mid fellows.' <br>Came then another ghost, whom I beat off, Anticlea, <br>And then Tiresias, Theban, <br>Holding his golden wand, knew me and spoke first: <br>'Man of ill hour, why come a second time, <br>Leaving the sunlight, facing the sunless dead and this joyless region? <br>Stand from the fosse, move back, leave me my bloody bever, <br>And I will speak you true speeches.' <br>'And I stepped back, <br>Sheathing the yellow sword. Dark blood he drank then <br>And spoke: 'Lustrous Odysseus, shalt <br>Return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas, <br>Lose all companions.' Foretold me the ways and the signs. <br>Came then Anticlea, to whom I answered: <br>'Fate drives me on through these deeps; I sought Tiresias.' <br>I told her news of Troy, and thrice her shadow <br>Faded in my embrace. <br>Then had I news of many faded women— <br>Tyro, Alcmena, Chloris— <br>Heard out their tales by that dark fosse, and sailed <br>By sirens and thence outward and away, <br>And unto Circe buried Elpenor's corpse.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Lie quiet, Divus. <br>In Officina Wechli, Paris, <br>M. D. three X's, Eight, with Aldus on the Frogs, <br>And a certain Cretan's <br>Hymni Deorum: <br>(The thin clear Tuscan stuff <br>Gives way before the florid mellow phrase.) <br>Take we the Goddess, Venus: <br>Venerandam, <br>Aurean coronam habentem, pulchram, <br>Cypri munimenta sortita est, maritime, <br>Light on the foam, breathed on by zephyrs, <br>And air-tending hours. Mirthful, orichalci<br>, with golden <br>Girdles and breast bands. <br>Thou with dark eye-lids, <br>Bearing the golden bough of Argicida.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ezra+Pound">Ezra Pound</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391158" data-title="Canto III de Ezra Pound" data-description="Another's a half-cracked fellow—John Heydon, 
Worker of miracles, dealer in levitation, 
In thoughts upon pure form, in alchemy, 
Seer of pretty visions ('servant of God and secretary of nature'); 
Full of plaintive charm, like Botticelli's, 
Wi..."></div>
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