Exultations Part 1

Exultations.

by Ezra Pound.

EXULTATIONS

Guido invites you thus[1]

"Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone!

Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the s.h.i.+p and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.

Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire!

Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The s.h.i.+p is mine."

[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."]

Night Litany

O Dieu, purifiez nos curs!

purifiez nos curs!

Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me a thing of tears.

O G.o.d, what great kindness have we done in times past and forgotten it, That thou givest this wonder unto us, O G.o.d of waters?

O G.o.d of the night What great sorrow Cometh unto us, That thou thus repayest us Before the time of its coming?

O G.o.d of silence, Purifiez nos curs, Purifiez nos curs, For we have seen The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid, Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked

Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice.

And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid Have I hidden mine eyes, O G.o.d of waters.

O G.o.d of silence, Purifiez nos curs, Purifiez nos curs, O G.o.d of waters, make clean our hearts within us And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the Shadow of this thy Venice Floating upon the waters, And thy stars Have seen this thing out of their far courses Have they seen this thing, O G.o.d of waters, Even as are thy stars Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart become silent within me.

_Purifiez nos curs_ _O G.o.d of the silence,_ _Purifiez nos curs_ _O G.o.d of waters._

Sandalphon

The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.

And these about me die, Because the pain of the infinite singing Slayeth them.

Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's age-long crusading, Ye know somewhat the strain, the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing.

And therefore ye know after what fas.h.i.+on This singing hath power destroying.

Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles, Die for the might of their praising, And the autumn of their marcescent wings Maketh ever new loam for my forest; And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things They dreamed before their praises, And in this grove my flowers, Fruit of prayerful powers, Have first their thought of life And then their being.

Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_!

Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking me part of them that die for praising --yea, tho' it be praising, past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases, --yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on, --yea, tho' it be praising as these the winged ones die of.

Ye think me one insensate else die I also Sith these about me die, And if I, watching

Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; Marvel and wonder!

Marvel and wonder even as I, Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.

Sestina: Altaforte

LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born.

Dante Alighieri put this man in h.e.l.l for that he was a stirrer-up of strife.

Eccovi!

Judge ye!

Have I dug him up again?

The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur.

"The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (Cur de Lion).

I

d.a.m.n it all! all this our South stinks peace.

You wh.o.r.eson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!

I have no life save when the swords clash.

But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.

II

In hot summer have I great rejoicing When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies G.o.d's swords clash.

III

h.e.l.l grant soon we hear again the swords clas.h.!.+

And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!

Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!

Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!