Or it could have been one of those introduction to poetry and 'close reading' tutorials I did for decades, hoping that Pound would be the entree to the pleasures of lively writing and the liberation from dutiful unquestioning ingestion of the written word - a liberation that memory tells me was always unpredictable, so that many who had wandered into serious reading often remained um tone-deaf…
Max
On 31/03/2013, at 2:27 AM, Douglas Barbour wrote:
> Which might have been, um, interesting.
>
> Doug
> On 2013-03-29, at 8:17 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> [Alan, my Dunedin friend has been to an adult ed. or maybe U3A class]
>>
>> part of his hand-out was a page of imagist poems, versions from the Chinese for example, which included these two versions of the one poem. First, the version by HA Giles, and on the right (if I can put it there), Pound’s:
>>
>> The sound of rustling silk is stilled. The rustling of silk is discontinued.
>> With dust the marble courtyard filled, Dust drifts over the courtyard.
>> No footfalls echo on the floor, There is no sound of footfall, and the leaves
>> Fallen leaves in heaps block up the door… Scurry into heaps and lie still,
>> For she, my pride, my lovely one is lost, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them
>> And I am left, in helpless anguish tossed.
>> A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
>>
>> Alan doesn't say what discussion eventuated.
>>
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