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Ianuarie



Wing by the Rapallo exit in sheeting rain heading west toward Genova, then north toward Milano and the Gotthard

Pound moved to Via Marsala 12 on the beach in Rapallo in 1924, "with mountains and the sea and olive trees and no library but his own"

Portofino, the Gulf of Rapallo

A pair of partisans arrested Pound in Olga Rudge's Casa Sessanta by Sant' Ambrogio above Rapallo on May 2, 1945, the day after the Americans arrived

The partigiani took him to Chiavari just down the coast, then to the Americans in Lavagna, the next town along

The day afterward the FBI began interrogating him in Genova

Tunnel after tunnel the zinging autostrada cuts straight and true along upslope from the twisting coastal roads and ancient towns and villages perché

Like a lofty opera set, the Riviera di Levante where his Second World War episodes were played out

"The Cantos open with the noise of the sea and clattering oars; the fragments with which they end evoke quiet houses, the stillness of nature, the silence of mountains"

Pound's vicious, unmitigated, visceral anti-Semitism skewered him early on. Try the ugly little poem "Brennbaum"

Or Canto XLV, the "With Usura" canto, that leads into the angry chaos of Canto XLVI, "Said Mr RothSchild, hell knows which Roth-schild"

If he hadn't been such an earnest cultural archeologist and brilliant poet he would have been just another expatriate crank

"Pound's poetry was very new and very old at once. The man seemed to live deep in history and yet he was the present"

What's left of all his impassioned anger are the American military cemeteries left across Europe, his poetry and critical influence, and all the peppery anecdotes from the St. Elizabeth days

In 1958 he arrived at Schloss Brunnenburg in Trentino-Alto to begin to finish his life in monkish silence

His daughter was married to the Italian Egyptologist who owned Brunnenburg

In his son-in-law's castle he was established in a tower room overlooking Merano

...a warren of serene rooms at many levels; a square central tower, square room above square room; and adjacent round tower up which coils a dizzying stone stair; a dark enclosed court; a minute garden with pines. The site is high, the surrounding peaks are higher; on a misty day they whelm it with menace.

His books and papers arrived from Rapallo

Pound's treason was funny-money anti-Semitic vitriol on Rome Radio's American Hour for 350 lire a go, Vivaldi recordings at the opening and closing of his talks

He must have been ambivalent about his nationality Ð he asked to be buried in Haily, Idaho

And he went down the hill into town from Olga's on the day the Americans arrived in Rapallo to formally offer the GIs his knowledge of Italy

"One hardly needs to seek out personality as it never can be avoided"

Treason is a strange and almost archaic word now

These days code clerks and intelligence sergeants in the Washington area practice it to pay for their predictable indulgences

North from Genova, the A7 autostrada follows the fiume Polcevera up through narrow Apennine valleys, proud stone-stucco farms and villages on the steep castagna slopes

Then down the Scrivia into the interior and out onto the great central plain through Tortona to the Po

Flat well-tilled naked winter fields waiting for the sun, ditched and ordered, now and then a bare tree, the granges as symmetrical highlights at the edges

In Pound's Italy and before into antiquity people instead of absent minded-machines worked the land here, big farms à la Bertolucci's Novecento

These long-cultivated European plains, nearly empty of people in the age of factory agriculture, this Po Valley plain perhaps the largest before the eastern steppes

La Mancha is comparable but broken by arroyos now and then — the windmills have been gone there for decades

The Île-de-France's, as seen approaching Chartres, is tidier, the fields are on a smaller scale and going suburban

Two, three thousand years of intensive cultivation of these Western European plains

Chartres was the center of Druid worship for the Celtic tribe, the Carnutes. The site of the great assemblies of the Druids

The Valley of the Po, well... the culture of the Valley of the Po is Turino, Pavia, Piacenza, Cremona, Ferrara, and the Po's tributary cities

Civilization propagated

As well as possible in the near infinity of human experience and expression

Adrift across the bottomless depth of cultural history

Each era's awareness, every consciousness elevated and extended on what has gone before

Pound, miner of ancient cultures, practiced the humanist creed of finding the best of the past and passing it on

Still overcast late in the day now in Lombardia

Lombardia's one of the most complex and intense spots on the planet, like Tokaido or the East Coast Megalopolis or London or São Paulo-Rio or the modern Île-de-France

Bypassing Lombardia's core, urban Milano, through poplar plantation flats at dusk to Como at the foot of the Alps

Wait there with the car in Piazza Volta near the Duomo

In the Black Death — eight in ten citizens of Como may have succumbed in the first outbreak in 1347 — immense piles of bodies in front of the Duomo

An the early Christmas Eve's tableau of rich Italian women parking in Piazza Volta in from their villas on the lake for an aperitivo, or flowers or a gift or to pick up clothes or food, or for a holiday rendezvous

Mostly sleek blondes in black BMWs, black Alfas, black Porsches, black Mercedes hogwagons, one red Maserati Assetto Corsa, and even a metallic green Lamborghini Murcielago

Each consigned to the effusively avuncular, leering guardiano with a snappy little blue pudge uniform cap who took tips with a buss while copping upper-body feels from the friendliest

The Murcielago pulled into the little piazza muttering powerfully, the fastest production car in the world

Cold night brilliance up into the steep hills off the lake on toward the Swiss border

A good meal from no-nonsense Sri Lankan Tamils at the only restaurant open in Bellenzona before the push up the long Ticino Valley to the Gotthard

Into the massive barrier of the Alps and down into Northern Europe

Thinking Cimbabue, Duccio, Giotto

Duccio, Chimabue, Giotto

Duccio, Giotto, Chimabue

And of small, low-doored, dark, thin-brick (mattonella) San Sisto in Pisa on via Santa Maria between Campo dei Miracoli (the Tower, the Battistero, the Duomo) and the center (Piazza dei Cavalieri) restored brilliantly from 1087

Of the Christmas concert in the Chiesa di Santo Stefano dei Cavalieri

Of the American gospel rock group in Florence setting up in the cold rain under the stage right arch of the Loggia dei Lanzi directly under the arrogant tolerance of the copy of Micelangelo's David and right beside Cellini's terrifying Perseus

Whose keyboarding front man — the two guitars tuned and the speakers finished screeching — turned to them with, "Joy to the World and let's rock it"

All that behind when into the seventeen-kilometer Gotthard Tunnel, maybe the major delimitation within the inherent variety of Europe

Province to province, passing through into the Rhine zone so distinct from those of the Po and its Middle Sea

Always exciting, these cultural junctures, France to Italy, France to England, Spain to Portugal, Poland to Russia, Holland to Germany, Italy to Austria

Even Andalusia to Murcia, Alsace to Lorraine, the Midi to the Massif Central

As Simone Weil said, "What is culture? The formation of attention"

And if Lucca, Pisa, Florence, Carrara, don't coalesce cultural awareness, then hurry on home to watch telebision like God intended

On these new European roads north of the Alps virtually empty on Christmas Eve

Stop before Luzern in Beckenried on the Vierwaldstätter See behind the Bürgenstock to phone a cousin

Then in barely an hour on into eerily quiet Basel listening to Max Bruch's mild Second in F Minor on the radio

Mild Europe's mild Christmas Eve programming on mild Swiss Radio

"His [Bruch's] music gives little to discuss and nothing to quarrel about. It is its lack of adventure which limited its fame"

A comment that serves also to characterize placid Basel where an intense life crisis is not finding a parking slot

Basel, somewhat to the rest of Europe as, say, Columbus or Omaha are to the rest of North America

And that's fine because Basel life leaves room, if not motivational opportunity, for everything

If you are one of them

And across affluent Europe it will continue, there'll be more Chiracs and more Schroeders and more Blairs ad infinitum

Who will pontificate, occasionally moralize, and administrate the wealth that is rooted with them almost inherently

Capital drawing capital, privilege enhancing privilege

After a flushed half a century of prosperity Europe knows full well the inherent value of maintaining its extensive zone of peace

Down the line zero population growth could well erode some of the wealth and create shortages and social gaps, but for now it goes on and on

And if you are one with them now and not living in the water slums of Lagos, or without hope or a job in Gaza, or in ravaged southern Sudan, or in Tondo in Manila, or dirt poor in Lima or La Paz, you will have your teeth fixed and the oil changed in your car and your kids will learn to read

And you will probably travel and you will flourish and the odds are that you will live into your eighties and die well

If you are one of them in Basel or Oslo or Barcelona or Krakow or Lyon or Turino

And not a born in Detroit to an addicted mother or in Maputo with AIDS or in Abidjan to become a war orphan before you can walk or in Recife to a homeless teenager

If you are one with Basel you will have good plumbing all your life, live in well-lighted heated rooms, enjoy fruit in winter and swimming pools in summer, have good public transportation and the means to own a car

Almost guaranteed

And live out your time alive in the contemporary Pax Europa

In Basel, site of psychotropic labs and factories and of Jung's dream book, you will have all the food you can eat and all the consumer junk you can possibly use

You will have psychological help when you are depressed and ask for it, cheap yearly passes for the trains and trams, extremely well organized and perfectly safe annual festivals, fine museums, and good water from the tap

And none of this will you have if born to people of average means in most of the rest of the world, none of this

A whole inventory of these privileges are virtually assured for only something under twenty percent of the world

Now

But we will be seven billion already in 2012 and then barely over fifteen percent will have clean water from the tap, sleep in full protection from the weather and without anxiousness about thuggery, fanatics or police And all the while in Basel things are better than ever

With the latest electronics available in even the supermarkets, charter flights to every attractive place on the planet, a world-spectrum of cars and gadgets, snug cafés and restaurants for all tastes

More succinctly, being one with them offers not only internet access to the world but virtual physical access to all worldly needs and desires

And in fairly good taste

True for those three hundred thousand residents of Regio Basilea

Who have been known to visit, say, Bolivia and come home to offer comments like, "It takes a trip like that to realize that we're not the only ones to face difficulties"

Bombay to twenty-six million, Lagos to twenty-three, Dhaka twenty-one, Karachi nineteen, Jakarta and Calcutta both over seventeen, Cairo fourteen, a dozen and more over ten, in 2015

Congestion, complexity, casuistry, callousness, chaos

And in complacent Basel, in 2015 life will be even more affluent than before

A few Baslers will not have jobs, a few will be addicts, a few more alcoholics, a few will be depressed and "unhappy," a few will have AIDs, very few will be in prison

With Swazis about forty percent seropositive now, Swazis who early in the 1990s had a life expectancy of 61, now have one of about 30

Most teenage Swazis alive now will die of AIDS

Most Baslers will live seven decades or beyond

One million South Africans will die of AIDS in 2003

There are fewer than two hundred thousand Baslers, only three hundred thousand in the whole Basel region

More than half the patients admitted to the main hospital in Soweto, the largest hospital in the Southern Hemisphere, have AIDS

No Swiss anywhere over sixteen and not a drunk or an addict gets by without fifteen or twenty thousand francs in the bank

Every life, in Basel or Burkina Faso and Burma or Bern is the same

Everyone everywhere is savvy


+++++++++++++++
Sampling credits to Hugh Kenner's The Pound Era, Guy Davenport, Steve Reich, H. C. Colles in Grove's 5th.

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