Searching for an old book by Ezra Pound, the one with his earlier, shorter works. I think I lent it to an old love once, from way back.
A quick search in my bookshelf reveals that it’s one of the many things I lost to a relationship gone awry. Why why why.
Pound was one of the many reasons why I fell in love with poetry. A man who likes to read is one of the many reasons why I fall in love.
When Pound got off the train that day at La Concorde, he saw all these beautiful faces. He wrote a thirty-line poem. Destroyed it. Six months later, he wrote another one. Wasn’t satisfied by it. A year later: this poem.
It changed my life.
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd :
Petals on a wet, black bough .