Just got started on Ezra Pound: Poet - A Portrait of the Man & his Work; Volume III, The Tragic Years 1939 - 1972. (It's not exactly a pithy title, is it?) Enjoyed Volume II of A. David Moody's biography, and I'm fascinated by the whole business of Pound's arrest and subsequent events - a number of which I'm not at all clear on - so what took me so long to get started?
I suppose my hesitation was caused partly by the sheer intensity of Pound's work and general concerns. Quite honestly, I don't think I would have enjoyed being in his company for too long. (In contrast, I suspect spending time with James Joyce wouldn't have been at all taxing, especially after a few drinks.) But above all, I must confess I get extremely irritated over the deliberate misspellings in Pound's letters and their general tone of forced humour. Just read this from Pound regarding his discovery of the radio as a medium for ideas, and it jarred: what drammer or teeyatur wuz, radio is...
Must say, I admire Moody for wading through the pages of this that exist even more than I do for his wonderfully balanced account of EP's deranged politics (which the biographer manages to make sound almost rational.)
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