Whilst reading The Fireman I've also been making some progress into A. David Moody's biography of everyone's least favourite Modernist poet Ezra Pound. It's garnered some excellent reviews and I can see why, it being vastly superior to Noel Stock's earlier amazingly dull account of Pound's life and poetic career. I've reached 1912 and things are finally hotting up - he's publishing poems that are genuinely worth reading.
I've decided in my dotage to try and take lit crit a bit more seriously and read some reasonably serious stuff. This is a good start. It might just convince me that Pound is more than a particularly clever huckster.
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