<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page21" name="page21"></SPAN>[21]</span></p>
<div><SPAN name="h2H_4_0016" id="h2H_4_0016"></SPAN></div>
<h2> <i>Ezra Pound</i> </h2>
<p class="quote">
(Mailed disdainfully by him from anywhere but America, and read
prayerfully by a committee from Chicago.)</p>
<h3> RAINUV: A ROMANTIC BALLAD FROM THE EARLY BASQUE </h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i24"> ... so then naturally </p>
<p class="i2"> This Count Rainuv I speak of </p>
<p class="i2"> (Certainly I did not expect you would ever have heard of him; </p>
<p class="i2"> You are American poets, aren't you? </p>
<p class="i2"> That's rather awful ... I am the only American poet </p>
<p class="i2"> I could ever tolerate ... well, sniff and pass....) </p>
<p class="i2"> Therefore ... well, I knew Rainuv. </p>
<p class="i2"> (My P. G. course at Penn, you'll remember; </p>
<p class="i2"> A little Anglo-Saxon and Basuto, </p>
<p class="i2"> But Provencal, mostly. Most don't go in for that.... </p>
<p class="i2"> You haven't, of course ... What, no Provencal? </p>
<p class="i2"> Well, of course, I know </p>
<p class="i2"> Rather more than you do. That's my specialty. </p>
<p class="i2"> But then—<i>Omnis Gallia est divisa</i>—but no matter. </p>
<p class="i2">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page22" name="page22"></SPAN>[22]</span>
Not fit, perhaps you'd say, that, to be quoted </p>
<p class="i2"> Before ladies.... That's your rather amusing prudishness....) </p>
<p class="i2"> Well, this Rainuv, then, </p>
<p class="i2"> A person with a squint like a flash </p>
<p class="i2"> Of square fishes ... being rather worse than most </p>
<p class="i2"> Of the usual <i>literati</i> </p>
<p class="i2"> Said, being carried off by desire of boasting </p>
<p class="i2"> That he knew all the mid-Victorians </p>
<p class="i2"> <i>Et ab lor bos amics:</i> </p>
<p class="i2"> (He thought it was something to boast of.) </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We'll say he said he smoked with Tennyson, </p>
<p class="i2"> And—deeper pit—<i>pax vobiscum</i>—went to vespers </p>
<p class="i2"> With Adelaide Anne Procter; helped Bob Browning elope </p>
<p class="i2"> With Elizabeth and her lapdog (said it bit him) </p>
<p class="i2"> Said he was the first man Blake told </p>
<p class="i2"> All about the angels in a pear-tree at Peckham Rye </p>
<p class="i2"> Blake drew them for him, he said; they were grackles, not angels— </p>
<p class="i2"> (Blake's not a mid-Victorian, but you don't know better) </p>
<p class="i2"> So ... we come, being slightly irritated, to facing him down. </p>
<p class="i2">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page23" name="page23"></SPAN>[23]</span>
"... And George Eliot?" we ask lightly. </p>
<p class="i2"> "<i>Roomed with him</i>," nodded Rainuv confidently, </p>
<p class="i2"> "<i>At college!</i>"... Ah, <i>bos amic! bos amic!</i> </p>
<p class="i2"> Rainuv is a king to you.... </p>
<p class="i2"> Three centuries from now (you dead and messy) men whispering insolently </p>
<p class="i2"> (Eeni meeni mini mo...) will boast that their great-grand-uncles </p>
<p class="i2"> Were kicked by me in passing.... </p>
</div>
</div>
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