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Provence and the British Imagination

 | 
Claire Davison
, 
Béatrice Laurent
, 
Caroline Patey
, 
et al.

Landscapes of modernity

Ezra the Troubadour

Massimo Bacigalupo

Texte intégral

Let it stand in
proof of my sanity –
despite all
opinions against it
that I spent a week in Beaucaire,
I wrote a great slice of this book there.

Ezra Pound, ([1912] 1992, 71)

1Ezra Pound introduced himself to the world as a twentieth-century Troubadour in his youthful collection A Lume Spento (1908), invoking from the start such figures as (the invented) Miraut de Garzelas and the more substantial Bertran de Born. He included translations and adaptations of Provençal poems in many of his subsequent books of verse and prose. He loved the romantic notion of the robust Middle Ages and posited them against decadent (or effete) modernity. In langue d’oc culture he sought a model for writing sparsely and musically; also the type of a society based on poetry and vision, even on arcane knowledge.

2Fulfilling this troubadour ideal, young Ezra traipsed around southern France in 1912 with his backpack looking up the places mentioned or associated with the poets: Hautefort, Excideuil, Chalus, Arles, Ribérac... The latter was the birthplace of Arnaut Daniel, much admired by Dante and eulogized fulsomely by Pound, who remains permanently identified with Arnaut by way of Eliot’s dedication of The Waste Land: “For Ezra Pound, il miglior fabbro”. Pound’s Provence is not a tourist haven, but a place to discover for oneself and visit with one’s beloved. For example, he had no interest in the modern revival of langue d’oc poetry – he was only concerned with pursuing his own geographic and mental itinerary (fig. 19).

3After his momentous solitary walking tour of May-July 1912, Pound returned to the Midi after the war: in summer 1919 with his wife Dorothy Shakespear (this was the occasion when Eliot joined him at Excideuil), in January 1921 when he spent some time on the Riviera, at Saint-Raphaël, and in 1923 when he travelled with the musician Olga Rudge, soon to become the mother of his daughter.

4The Provençal cult of the Lady was highlighted by the American Troubadour, who, despite his anti-Romantic and sometimes macho stance, ceaselessly celebrates (even in his major poetry) the physical and mental union of man and woman – the door to ‘the mysteries’. In the end, Provence becomes one of the basic themes and myths of Pound’s Cantos and their peculiar interpretation of history. It is by way of Provence that Aphrodite is reborn in the modern age (i.e, in the twelfth century and later).

At the Beginning

5Pound discovered Provence at college in the United States. He pictured himself as a lonely singer and vagabond of many loves and many songs when he moved to Crawfordsville, Indiana, for his first teaching job as instructor in Romance languages. The position was terminated prematurely because of the young poet’s ‘Latin Quarter’ attitudes. But in Indiana he wrote many of the poems which he printed in his first book A Lume Spento, published at his own expense in Venice in July 1908. Pound’s frame of mind was influenced by his Victorian predecessors, notably Swinburne and Browning, and by his older contemporary Yeats, none of whom however were much if at all interested in Provençal poetry. The Canadian Bliss Carman and the American Richard Hovey published in the 1890s several volumes of Songs from Vagabondia, which to some extent set the theme for Pound’s career as the permanent vagabond in mind as well as in body. But in contrast to this admiration for the open air and the open road, whose source is ultimately Walt Whitman, Pound was always steeped in bookish and medieval lore, and decorated his verses from the start with titles in many languages, living and dead, or in his own ‘babylonish dialect’ (as Milton’s language was once called derogatively). Thus the frontispiece of his first book reads:

This Book was

LA FRAISNE
(THE ASH TRE)

dedicated

to such as love this same
beauty that I love, somewhat
after mine own fashion.

But sith one of them has gone out very quickly from amongst us it [sic ] given
                  A LUME SPENTO
                 (WITH TAPERS QUENCHED)
in memoriam eius mihi caritate primus
                  William Brooke Smith
                  Painter, Dreamer of dreams. (Pound 1976, 5)

6English, modern and archaic, mingles with archaic French (Fraisne is old Fench spelling for frêne, ash tree – however frêne is masculine, so it should have been LE FRAISNE); Dante’s Italian and Latin, and some of the foreign tags get to be translated. For Pound it was natural from early on to create these macaronic texts, and it would be interesting to discover if there is precedent for this method in his predecessors of the Nineties. Just as ‘LA FRAISNE’ looks like a mistake, so Pound’s first books begins auspiciously with an omitted word. Pound added by hand ‘is’ over ‘it given’ (which looks like an old-fashioned way of saying ‘it is titled’ or ‘it is given as’, ‘given with the title’).

7Thus from Pound’s very first encounter with the reader much of his style is established. Open his later work and The Cantos at any point and you will find more of the same going on. Though there is always a presiding consciousness that ensnares the reader in its multilingual discourse, mixing private and public matters without notice, just as William Brooke Smith is brought up on the opening page of A Lume Spento. (I won’t go into the real meaning of these words from Dante, which if we see them in context are not – what Pound must have thought – an auspicious way to remember a deceased friend.)

8‘La Fraisne’ is the title of the second poem in A Lume Spento (‘Scene: The Ash Wood at Malvern’), a soliloquy attributed in a prefatory ‘Note’ to one Miraut de Garzelas, maddened by love and married to an ash-tree. The prose ‘Note’ is again a multilingual pastiche of fact and fiction, Latin and English, with a reference to ‘Mr Yeats’ (whom Ezra was to meet only a few months later, but whom he was already laying his bait for with this display of esoteric knowledge and this mixture of Provençal and Celtic lore). ‘La Fraisne’ is followed by a self-portrait of a historical Italian poet, ‘Cino’. Though exiled for a while from his native Pistoia, Cino was a learned jurist who wrote on law, as well as poems. Pound however presents him as a typical jongleur, carelessly travelling, au courant about the ladies in their castles, an eternal misfit: “I have sung women in three cities,/But it is all the same; / I will sing of the sun”. The next poem, titled ‘In Epitaphium Eius’, is in fact an epitaph for ‘Servant and singer, Troubadour’, and it claims that its subject “for his loving, loved each fair face more / Than craven sluggard can his life’s one love” (Pound 1997). The troubadour has many loves, but given his passionate nature has more to offer each woman than the man with whom she lives.

9‘In Epitaphium Eius’ is followed by ‘Na Audiart’, another outlandish title, and a well-known poem in the Pound canon. It is an extrapolation from Bertran de Born’s address, ‘Dompna pois de me no.s cal’, in which Bertran constructs a composite lady, and says of Dompna Audiart: “I’d have her form that’s laced/So cunningly, / Without blemish, for her love / Breaks not nor turns aside” (“N’Audiartz, si be. m vol mal, / Vuoill qe. m don de sas faissos, / Qe. il estai gen liazos, / E car es entieira, / C’anc no. is frais / S’amors ni. s vols en biais”). That is, he wants her form, her ‘torse’, perhaps her breasts: “Where thy body laces start / As ivy fingers clutching thru / Its crevices”. Pound likes the fact that Bertran fancies Audiart’s fine torso, “Tho thou well dost wish me ill”, which is the first line of the poem. That is, he likes the image of the poet as scapegoat, vagabond, a hurt figure on a road, who however is also free of the world’s cares and unrepentant. Given his late Victorian upbringing, Pound’s translation of this poem is less outspoken than the original, “La fassa bon tener nuda” becoming in his later translation (published in Lustra, 1915), “Her robes can but do her wrong” (Pound 2003, 284; Capelli 2003, 144).

10In any case, Bertran was an early major persona for Pound, who scored one of his first successes with his ‘Sestina: Altaforte’, an extrapolation from Bertran in the sestina form (which Bertran himself never used), and a vibrant invocation of war: “Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace”. It is remembered that Pound’s friendship with another artiste maudit, the French sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, began when Gaudier heard Pound recite the ‘bloody sestina’ and understood the first line as ‘all this South stinks piss’! The poem was published in 1909. Gaudier died on the French front six years later. Decades later Pound cast himself as peace-maker – he believed crazily that he could negotiate between Roosevelt and Mussolini in 1939. Yet the ‘stirrer up of strife’ Bertran may be a more appropriate model for the contentious and litigious Pound, who spoke irately on the Italian radio what today we call ‘hate-speech’ during World War II.

11Bertran was to figure in one of Pound’s most extensive pre-cantos exercises in history and fantasy, ‘Near Perigord’. Here he returns to the poem about the composite lady and suggests that the women named may function just as coded messages about certain castles in some warlike plan of Bertran. This would be confirmed by Dante’s placing of Bertran among the ‘stirrers of strife’. In ‘Near Perigord’ Pound gives us a portrait of Bertran which looks a lot like himself, including the red beard:

En Bertrans, a tower-room at Hautefort,
Sunset, the ribbon-like road lies, in red cross-light,
Southward toward Montaignac, and he bends at a table
Scribbling, swearing between his teeth; by his left hand
Lie little strips of parchment covered over,
       Scratched and erased with al and ochaisos.
Testing his list of rhymes, a lean man? Bilious?
With a red straggling beard?
And the green cat’s-eye lifts toward Montaignac... (Pound 2003, 305)

12In fact Pound was called ‘Old green-eyes’ by one disciple of the 1950s. The list of rhymes is a telling detail. Cal, vos and ochaisos are the first three rhymes of ‘Dompna, puois de mi no.us cal’, a poem in seven 10-line stanzas all rhyming abbcddeeff (with the same rhymes), plus a coda eeff. Pound wrote a whole book of Canzoni (1911) based on Provençal rhyme-schemes, later rejecting most of the rather insipid results, so he must have been familiar with ‘lists of rhymes’ (and I have seen other lists of rhymes in the manuscript of the Pisan cantos, for the rhymed section at the end of canto 80).

13The Futurists, who also appeared on the European scene in 1909, would likewise preach war as ‘sole hygiene of the world’ (and Gaudier said the same when writing from the front, before he was ‘hygienically’ killed). In the Italian canto 72 written in early 1945, Pound imagines meeting Marinetti’s ghost, who tells him: “Io cantai la guerra, tu hai voluta la pace, orbi ambedue! / all’interno io mancai, tu all’odierno” (Pound 1995, 426). That is, Marinetti was wrong in celebrating war, and Pound in pursuing peace; the Italian missed the inner man, and Pound missed the contemporary. I think Pound was sincere when presenting himself as a peacemaker, but writing in 1945, at the close of World War II, he suggests that war is not to be celebrated but necessary under the circumstances.

14That Pound filled his texts with Provençal lore is nothing new. All of his readers are perfectly aware of this. His taking upon himself the character of the wanderer and Troubadour is less understood. He liked the open road, and the writing of musical and energetic verse which however should contain hidden meanings and intrigues. If we look through his work we can see various developments of Provençal themes. There is the identification with the Troubadours and their craft, and the interest in their biographies and locations. Thus in The Cantos we find Toulouse, Gourdon, Excideuil, Allègre – all places visited for their troubadour associations in which Pound had some special experience or found some telling trace of the past. As we have seen, Pound actually walked across the Midi in spring-summer 1912 and made notes for an unpublished book, Gironde. These notes were capably edited in 1992 by Richard Sieburth and make fascinating reading. Out of this tour came the geographic details of ‘Near Perigord’, the long Bertran poem, and ‘Provincia Deserta’ (1915), one of Pound’s most haunting lyrics, with a strange title as always – strange but striking. It is like a list of melancholy notes, written in the new terse style Pound developed in the London years. He is the new Troubadour in a Provence where the old Troubadours are no longer to be found, though the countryside speaks of them (fig. 20).

15The other use Pound made of Provence is in connection with the Albigensians and their eradication. One of his early readings was Joséphin Péladan’s Le secret des troubadours, which claims that the poets of Provence were associated with the secret doctrine of the Albigensians. An admirer of classic literature, pagan and erotic, Pound came to believe that the ancient myths and rituals of initiation had survived in the Albigensian cult, and that this led to the cultural flowering of the region, where great art and music was produced by people who had been initiated to the mysteries of the gods and sexuality or fertility. Pound suggests that Aphrodite, goddess of love, has a way of being worshipped, repressed and silenced, and periodically rediscovered in ages of artistic and social creativity. The fertility of natural process and human eroticism is inevitably connected with the creation of art – they cannot be severed. Hence the Provençal cult of the Lady, which is both erotic and quasi-religious. The hymn-like early poem ‘The Alchemist’, that Pound dated 1912, suggests as much:

Midonz, with the gold of the sun, the leaf of the
             poplar, by the light of the amber,
Midonz, daughter of the sun, shaft of the tree, silver
             of the leaf, light of the yellow of the amber,
Midonz, gift of the God, gift of the light, gift of the
             amber of the sun,
                                  Give light to this metal. (Pound 1976, 225)

16In the occultist circles of London this theory that Pound derived from various sources found an audience. He expounded it in an essay, ‘Psychology and Troubadours’, written shortly after his 1912 wanderings in the ‘Provincia Deserta’ and later added to reprints of The Spirit of Romance, his 1910 book of essays on early Romance literatures, chiefly the Troubadours and Dante and his circle. Early 1912 also saw the publication of Pound’s translations of Sonnets and Ballate of Guido Cavalcanti, Cavalcanti being one of his later personae – poet-warrior, friend and competitor of Dante. The Italian poets with Dante at the centre reprised the cult of the Lady of their Provençal forerunners. In two poems Cavalcanti recalled a trip to Toulouse. Pound thus could argue that during his visit to Provence Guido learned some of the secrets that join poetry and love. And Pound suggested as much in The Cantos, of which the Albigensian-Troubadour-Tuscan poets association is one of the central myths. (Bacigalupo 1980, 21-32)

17In middle age Pound persuaded himself that Fascism was a new revelation of Aphrodite within society, and when it was defeated by the Allies, he wrote its elegy in the Pisan cantos associating the ruined Italy of 1945 with Montségur, the ruined citadel of the Albigensians. This is all very solemn, and also tragic, though there is also a humorous side to it. When people discover a life of religious and sexual freedom and start making great art the forces of oppression and obscurantism will no doubt close in to spoil the fun. Something of the kind happened at Merrymount in the days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. This simplistic interpretation of history provided a blueprint on which to found The Cantos, which are essentially a poetic interpretation of history, or if you like a travelogue through a landscape that tells a story.

18Pound the new troubadour was most successful in expressing his wonder in front of the mystery of sexuality and womanhood, invoking the aid of benevolent goddesses who merge with the actual women in his life. And he had a fine touch in evoking the landscapes were civilization as he understood it had been destroyed but was still there to be recreated. His plan was nothing if not ambitious, and floundered in his contradictions and racist ravings, but he can still suggest the wonder of art being reborn as, in Canto 91, the Troubadour finds his voice, encounters once again the lost eyes of the lady:

that the body of light come forth
                  from the body of fire
And that your eyes come to the surface
                  from the deep wherein they were sunken
Reina – for 300 years
                  and now sunken... (Pound 1995, 630)

19He wrote these lines in 1954 in an insane asylum in Washington, D. C. A jailed (and mad) Troubadour, like the forerunners he recalled, Walter Ralegh and Torquato Tasso. His incarceration was only further proof that the worshipper of ‘Reina’, the great goddess of love and poetry, gets into trouble with the powers that be.

20Thus Pound took from Provence some of his basic myths and personae. The Troubadour, the Lady, the art of song, the tradition of the mysteries, the conflict between the free individual and society. After all, the Albigensian myth is but a restatement in large of the romantic revolt against conformity. As the Troubadours spoke of women, landscapes, and politics, so did our erring modern American Troubadour. He didn’t really change style or outlook from beginning to end. On the final page of The Cantos he is still walking “the roads of France,” a solitary jongleur following his inspiration, recklessly and lovingly. In the background is “a field of larks at Allègre” which he remembered and associated with the most famous Provençal poem, Bernart de Ventadorn’s ‘Quan vei la lauzeta mover’:

Or a field of larks at Allègre
       ‘es laissa cader’
so high toward the sun and then falling,
       ‘de joi sas alas’
to set here the roads of France. (Pound 1995, 823)

21A few words of langue d’oc, a fragmentary translation – the same procedures that we found on the title page of A Lume Spento. Allègre is near La Chaise-Dieu, on the borders of Auvergne. In this little fragment one glimpses Pound’s theme of ‘joy’ – he does offer recordings of joyous moments to counter so much ‘falling’ (and failing). One also sees his pervasive breaking of syntax, to annotate brokenly ideas, thoughts, intentions. ‘To set here the roads of France’. These are the roads of the Troubadours, and along this road he exists, for once joyously even in old age. He can still walk and remember a bit of ancient song, for what good it may do him and us.

Permanence

22In Pound there is always a search for patterns and a poetic philology. The broken lines quoted above, from the final page (823) of the 1995 edition of The Cantos, are partly based on the association between the suggestion of ‘allègre’ as ‘happy’ and the ‘joi’ spoken of in Bernart’s famous song of the lark. Pound is creating a kind of philological conceit. Another aspect that has not been given enough attention is how Pound’s fragmentary autobiography is always filtered through a textual process of repetition and foregrounding. The names of places that haunt the poetry acquire significance because they have already become part of the Poundian text – they are words and sounds rather than indications of events. Take for example Allègre, the village in Auvergne whose chief monument are the ruins of a castle of which two towers, known as La Potence d’Allègre, stand out like a gallows against the horizon. Pound visited the village in July 1912 and described the Potence:

On first seeing Allègre back of Mt. du Bar one thinks the tower bridge has slipped its moorings by some freak of gravitation, a free bridge of battlements still standing connects two of the fragments. The arch is well concealed.
There is a great lake of landscape beneath the portal & the P. M. haze had mellowed it. The town is apparently built of cobble stones & would be amazing had not one seen Uzerche.

Allègre
the joyous
machicolée
...
July 16
4.04 P.M.
now should I be finally equipped for the indicting of true pastorals
        called Allègre
Rossinhols       in Limoges
(Pound [1912] 1992, 73-75)

23This already contains the association of Allègre and joy which was to return in the close of The Cantos. And Pound seems to have had an experience (unrecorded) enabling him to write pastorals (as he notes). He even gives the exact date and hour, and mentions not larks but nightingales (‘rossinhols’), recollecting Peire d’Alvernhe’s famous song ‘Rossinhol, el seu repaire’, mentioned in The Spirit of Romance of 1910 (Pound 1953: 49), as noted by Sieburth (Pound [1912] 1992, 121).

24Allègre makes no further appearance in the Pound canon until the Pisan cantos (80) where it is brought in as part of a plangent description of the goddess (both Diana and Venus):

At Ephesus she had compassion of silversmiths
       revealing the paraclete
standing in the cusp
       of the moon et in Monte Gioiosa
as the larks rise at Allègre
          Cythera egoista
(Pound 1995, 520-21)

25So now the ‘ideogram’, to use Pound’s own term, is composed of Allègre, joyful, compassionate and nevertheless tricky Venus, and a vision (memory?) of larks. It remained for the final fragment to add the quotation from Bernart, perfectly fitting the ideogram because of the presence both of joy and the lark – and of love. The writing in canto 80 is as usual based on suggestiveness for its effects, and mixes Italian, Latin and English. The interpretation is up to the reader, but what counts is the religious impression of the goddess. There may be an allusion to Montallegro, a shrine to the Virgin Mary overlooking Rapallo where the Pounds often hiked. This becomes ‘Monte Gioiosa’, joyous mount, leaving the association with Allègre to the meaning rather than the sound. If ‘Gioiosa’ is an attribute of ‘Monte’, as the capitalization suggests, it should be ‘Gioioso’, just as the Rapallo shrine is Montallegro, not Montallegra. On the other hand, since the passage describes Venus, an extra feminine adjective does no harm. A similar process may have led the younger Pound to write ‘La Fraisne’ rather than the correct ‘Le Fraisne’.

26In the final fragment of canto 76 not only Allègre, but also the line ‘To set here the roads of France’ is a repeat from the Pisan cantos, where it introduces memories (read place names) of the Midi and is immediately repeated, as if becoming a leitmotif at once after its first appearance and calling attention to its significant intent:

But to set here the roads of France,
     of Cahors, of Chalus,
        the inn low by the river’s edge,
the poplars; to set here the roads of France
Aubeterre, the quarried stone beyond Poitiers –
     – as seen against Sergeants Beaucher’s elegant profile –
and the tower on the almost triangular base
     as seen from Santa Marta’s in Tarascon

‘in heaven have I to make?’
(Pound 1995, 475)

27The syntax is (as usual) floating. ‘To set here the roads’ sounds like Pound instructing himself, wishing to recover scenes of his young manhood, and also telling us, as is his wont, that we could do worse than follow in his footsteps. His writing in Pisa is notably forceful, full of striking details, like here “the inn low by the river’s edge,” and also brings in his actual surroundings in the U.S. Army prison camp (Sergeant Beaucher), so the pathos of memory mixes with humorous acknowledgment of his changed condition. Beaucaire (alluded to by Beaucher) and Tarascon were Pound’s last stops in 1912 before proceeding by train to Le Puy and thence by foot to Clermont-Ferrand by way of Allègre and La Chaise-Dieu (Pound 1992: 72). Tarascon brings to his memory Aucassin and Nicolette and the young lover’s protest “En paradis qu’ai-je à faire?” – he much prefers this world and Nicolette to the bliss of paradise. The quotation is duly noted by Terrell (1980, 394), but it is worth pointing out that Pound strangely translates the letter and not the meaning of Aucassin’s protest: “[i]n heaven have I to make?”. It is hardly credible that he didn’t know the meaning of the French, so we must take this as a sort of philological joke. Few will recognize the quotation, and those few will see the meaning through Pound’s crib. For him those days in France were paradise.

28There is a similar unbelievable translation au pied de la lettre in Pound’s ‘Dieu! Qu’il La Fait’from Charles D’Orléans’s ‘For Music’: “God! that mad’st her well regard her...”. This rendering of the famous opening line is as hilarious as any howler in Homage to Sextus Propertius. As in canto 76, ‘faire’ is translated literally as ‘make’. Pound’s fixation on writing, literalness, words, appears to lead him to these strange textual events. Making poetry out of misconstruction, more or less intentional, as is the case in The Cantos from the very first page (which may be described as a misreading of a crib of the Odyssey).

29The list of place-names with which Pound evokes in canto 76 ‘the roads of France’ brings me to my other point – that Pound’s reminiscences are largely textual. Of the five places listed in the passage quoted above, only Tarascon is new in Pound’s canon and was to remain a hapax. Poitiers appears in cantos 4 and 8, associated with Cavalcanti as mentioned earlier. The most interesting fact is that Cahors, Chalus and Aubeterre had already been cited in ‘Provincia Deserta’, the poem that (with ‘The Gypsy’) grew out of Pound’s 1912 tour. These two texts have a foundational function in the building of Pound’s personal myth. As shown by the Table attached to this paper, of the thirty-three Provençal place-names in The Cantos, twenty-eight make their first appearance in ‘Provincia Deserta’, ‘The Gypsy’, and ‘Near Perigord’, thus entering Pound’s textual and auditory memory. Here are a few lines from the former poem:

I have gone in Ribeyrac
        and in Sarlat,
I have climbed rickety stairs, heard talk of Croy,
Walked over En Bertran’s old layout,
Have seen Narbonne, and Cahors and Chalus,
Have seen Excideuil, carefully fashioned...
(Pound 2003, 298)

30Cahors and Chalus are placed next to each other for the sake of the sound, and the whole poem really indulges in an epicurean feast of sounds evocative of a world and its memorable figures, like Bertran in his ‘old layout’ Hautefort (mentioned a few lines below). Hautefort is close to Excideuil, which was to play an important role in The Cantos, following Pound’s later meeting there with Eliot (summer 1919), but is here again merely a sound to which the very vague qualification ‘carefully fashioned’ is added, again for a ‘dying fall’ sound effect. It is worth noticing that Cahors and Chalus return in the same position, next to each other, in canto 76. So Pound may be remembering his sentimental walking tour, but is actually quoting his own poetic version of his travels. His travels in sound and writing have to some extent replaced his travels on the roads of France. This is how he constructed his personal myth, which can already be seen fully deployed in ‘Provincia Deserta’, with its claims for the special rapport the narrator has had with the Provençal past:

I have walked over these roads;
I have thought of them living.
(Pound 2003, 299)

31As we have seen, a memory of walking these roads was to close The Cantos. The two final lines of ‘Provincia Deserta’ could serve as an epitaph for Pound’s entire oeuvre and life. He has travelled, and imagined, but also written. ‘To set here the roads...’ The words, once consigned to the page in a given order, take on a life of their own. They become the life and the myth.

Bibliographie

Bacigalupo, Massimo. 1980. The Forméd Trace: The Later Poetry of Ezra Pound. New York: Columbia University Press.

Capelli, Roberta. 2003. “Pound traduttore dei trovatori, tra esercitazione, tecnica e sperimentazione creativa”. Studi sulla traduzione 95-97 (Romanica Vulgaria Quaderni 15): 129-86.

Conover, Anne. 2001. Olga Rudge and Ezra Pound: ‘What Thou Lovest Well...’. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Pound, Ezra. 1995. The Cantos of Ezra Pound. New York: New Directions.

—. 1997. Collected Early Poems of Ezra Pound. New York: New Directions.

—. 2003. Poems and Translations. Ed. Richard Sieburth. New York: Library of America.

—. 1953. The Spirit of Romance. Norfolk, CT: New Directions.

—. [1912] 1992. A Walking Tour in Southern France. Ed. Richard Sieburth. New York: New Directions.

Terrell, Carroll F. [1980] 1984. A Companion to The Cantos of Ezra Pound. 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Annexes

Ezra Pound’s Provençal Topography

The Table below lists the Provençal place names found in Pound’s 1915-16 poems ‘The Gypsy’, ‘Provincia Deserta’, and ‘Near Perigord’, and in The Cantos, with references to Pound’s 1912 Walking Tour. 76/475 = canto (76, p. 475, 1995).

Fig. 19 - Ezra Pound’s wanderings in 1912, in A Walking Tour in Southern France, ed. Richard Sieburth (1992)
Ezra Pound among the Trobadours (1912)

Fig. 19 - Ezra Pound’s wanderings in 1912, in A Walking Tour in Southern France, ed. Richard Sieburth (1992)Ezra Pound among the Trobadours (1912)

Fig. 20-Ezra Pound in the neighborhood of Ventadour, summer 1919. Photograph by Olga Rudge, in Anne Conover, Olga Rudge and Ezra Pound (2001)

Fig. 20-Ezra Pound in the neighborhood of Ventadour, summer 1919. Photograph by Olga Rudge, in Anne Conover, Olga Rudge and Ezra Pound (2001)

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Titre Fig. 19 - Ezra Pound’s wanderings in 1912, in A Walking Tour in Southern France, ed. Richard Sieburth (1992)Ezra Pound among the Trobadours (1912)
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Titre Fig. 20-Ezra Pound in the neighborhood of Ventadour, summer 1919. Photograph by Olga Rudge, in Anne Conover, Olga Rudge and Ezra Pound (2001)
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Auteur

He is Professor of American Literature at the University of Genoa (M.A., University of Rome; Ph.D., Columbia University). His research has centered on American and British Romanticism and Modernism, especially poetry: The Forméd Trace: The Later Poetry of Ezra Pound (1980); Grotta Byron: Luoghi e libri (2001); America and the Mediterranean (co-editor, 2003); Ambassadors: American Studies in a Changing World (co-editor, 2006); In Venice and in the Veneto with Ezra Pound (co-author, 2007). His contributions appear in Ezra Pound in Context (2011), Wallace Stevens Across the Atlantic (2008), T. S. Eliot in Context (2011). His archival research has brought to light previously unpublished or censored texts by Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald and H.D. He has edited and translated works by Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Dickinson, Melville, Eliot, Stevens, and Heaney.