"The pusillanimous wanting all men cut down to worm size."
    Well, maybe Byron is stretching it a bit, but he had a dam good dog
poem, but Yeats I'd stick by. He accomplished the kind of poetics Graves
only mused on. The true essence of poetry is not to be compared to any other
form of human mumbling. It is Artemisian, wormwood in this world. If you
haven't the stomach for it take up any of the various proclivities the
Chandala apostles offer. Jackasses braying at the gates of Olympus.

    "Oh moon, my pin-up chronometer". Can anyone name the Canto?
--
Bottoms up,
Charles

----------
>From: Tim Bray <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: Rom. Pound
>Date: Thu, Jul 31, 2003, 1:41 AM
>

> charles moyer wrote:
>
>> Dear Eamonn or Rich or Big Mac or whatever,
>>
>>     Do I detect projection in your overreaction? Actually I think Yeats and
>> Byron are greater poets.
>
> Byron?!?!?!?!?!?  Surely you jest.
>
> Having said that, one of my favorite books of poetry is a slim volume of
> Byron, beutifully bound and set, with the stamp of "W.H Smith, English
> Bookseller, Paris" on the inner cover, and inscribed "To Enid from
> Winifred, Jan. 11th, 1906" in a very fine hand indeed.  It is favored
> for the packaging, not the content. Maybe I should try again; I found
> the verse occasionally amusing but generally forgettable.
>
> --
> Cheers, Tim Bray
>          (ongoing fragmented essay: http://www.tbray.org/ongoing/)