for ezra pound
rhythm, u strophe wrote, is form
cut into time & thus hard
to counterfeit,
& so u tried to find yr own rhythm,
cut yr own place in
temporal tides
turning one foot to another, from
one side of a chorus
to the other
searching for melody & euphony
in symbiosis,
finding instead
a fascist minimum; an immanent
connection to a
“superior” law
& “objective” will transcending,
yet evolving on planes of
parataxis
‘tween assonance & alliteration,
‘tween immediate
& delayed rhyme
polyphonically simple, lightened
by stark emotion;
a one-image poem.
© Joseph McNair; 2009
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