I forlængelse af mit foregående indlæg: Jeg kom i tanker om denne episode, som William Carlos Williams refererer i sin selvbiografi:
Ezra Pound er på besøg hos Williams’ forældre. “So one evening Ezra read several poems. Pop listened. I listened also and so did Mother, who said nothing. [...] one poem especially Pop struck on. Ezra had composed a short piece on the backs of certain books standing on the shelves of our bookcase [...] He spoke in the poem of certain jewels, red and blue and green. It wasn’t a bad conceit and Ezra resolved it with considerable passion and ability. Pop couldn’t get it. “What are the jewels you speak of?” he said. I don’t think I myself was entirely clear on the subject. “You make a good story of it,” went on Pop, “but I don’t know what you are talking about.” [...] “The jewels I speak of are the backs of the books in the bookcase.” “Oh,” said Pop. “Of course,” he went on, “being books and being precious to you as a student and a poet you treasure them, therefore you call them jewels. That I understand. But if that’s what you wish the reader to understand, to make an intelligent impression on him, if it’s the books you’re talking about, why don’t you just say so then?” Ezra appears never to have forgotten the lesson.”


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