Ideas Are The Old-age Of Art. Artists

When Modernist Poetry, Or What Not So Long Ago Passed For Modernist Poetry, Can Reach The Stage Where The Following Piece By Mr. Ezra Pound Is Seriously Offered As A Poem, There Is Some Justification For The Plain Reader And Orthodox Critic Who Shrinks From Anything That May Be Labelled 'modernist' Either In Terms Of Condemnation Or Approbation. Better He Thinks, That Ten Authentic Poets Should Be Left For Posterity To Discover Than One Charlatan Should Be Allowed To Steal Into The Temple Of Fame.

We Shall Know That We Have Begun To Speak True By An Increased Hunger For True-speaking; We Shall Have The Whole Hunger Only After We Have Given Ourselves The First Taste Of It.

How Our Story Has Been Divided Up Among The Truth-telling Professions! Religion, Philosophy, History, Poetry, Compete With Each Other For Our Ears; And Science Competes With All Together. And For Each We Have A Different Set Of Ears. But, Though We Hear Much, What We Are Told Is As Nothing: None Of It Gives Us Ourselves, Rather Each Story-kind Steals Us To Make Its Reality Of Us.

Women From Earliest Times Have Been Used As Conveniences Of Communication With Unseen, Inaccessible Powers, But Always In The Sense That Such Exposing Of Self To Dangerous Mysteries, Such Destruction Of The Understanding As Was Required To Become The Slave Of Unseen Powers, Did Not Matter Because The Communicant Was Only A Woman, In Herself An Undetermined Cipher - A Nothing.

A Religion Addresses The Longing In Us To Have That Said From Which We Can Go On To Speak Of Next And Next Things Rightly, In Their Immediate Time - The Telling Of What Came First And Before Done Forever.