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Provença

Chapter 12: FOR E. McC.
By Ezra Pound
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Poetry

About This Book

A compact sequence of lyrics and narrative poems reimagines medieval troubadour and classical voices through a modernist lens. The collection mixes stylized adaptations and persona pieces, ranging from jaunty ballads to mournful elegies, and tests forms such as sestina, sonnet, and canzone. Themes of love, loss, memory, exile, and the craft of song recur amid dense, allusive imagery. Shifts in diction and perspective create a chorus of historical and mythic echoes, prioritizing formal experimentation and vocal variety over linear narrative while inviting attentive, cross-temporal reading.

FOR E. McC.

THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER
LEONARDO TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE

GONE while your tastes were keen to you,
Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith,
One that hath known you.
Drew you your sword most gallantly,
Made you your pass most valiantly
’Gainst that grey fencer, even Death.
Gone as a gust of breath
Faith! no man tarrieth,
“Se il cor ti manca,” but it failed thee not!
“Non ti fidar,” it is the sword that speaks
“In me.”[6]
Thou trusted’st in thyself and met the blade
’Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
As old Toledos past their days of war
Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore,
So art thou with us, being good to keep
In our heart’s sword-rack, though thy sword-arm sleep.
ENVOI
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth,
Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all,
’Gainst that grey fencer, even Death,
Behold the shield! He shall not take thee all.