A Religion Addresses The Longing In Us

I Believe That Misconceptions About Oneself That One Does Not Correct Where Possible Act As A Bad Magic.

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.

Metaphor Is, As A Common Feature Of Linguistic Practice, An Incidental Expediency, A Homely Administering Of First-aid By Mother-wit To Jams Or Halts In Expression Suddenly Confronting Speakers, With No Respectable Linguistic Solution Immediately In Sight.

Every Thought Sounds Like A Footfall, Till A Thought Like A Boot Kicks Down The Wall.

Until The Missing Story Of Ourselves Is Told, Nothing Besides Told Can Suffice Us: We Shall Go On Quietly Craving It.