哀叹
诗歌
Pound(网络)
妻子
文学类
艺术
阅读(过程)
灵魂
艺术史
历史
经典
哲学
神学
语言学
万维网
计算机科学
出处
期刊:Literary Imagination
日期:2021-06-12
卷期号:23 (3): 316-325
标识
DOI:10.1093/litimag/imab009
摘要
I was in London! I had a room in a flat somewhere or other, a head full of ideas, and a Reader’s Pass to the British Library, which was still part of the British Museum. I was on my own and diligently studied all day in the grandeur of the central Reading Room. But I didn’t know anyone in England and at night I was unexpectedly lonely, soul-crushingly homesick. I put a pot of tea on the hotplate and opened a copy of Ezra Pound’s Translations, and soaked up the poems, the Anglo-Saxon lament The Seafarer (“May I for my own self song’s truth reckon”), and the Provençal poets, especially Arnaut Daniel (“Aye, life’s a high thing”), and the Florentine Guido Cavalcanti (“I am reduced at last to self compassion,/For the sore anguish that I see me in”), and fantasized that I could become part of something. Every reading...
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