“What thou lovest well remains…”

This morning walking, ipod set on shuffle, the mysterious happened again; between songs, a recording of a poem. Last week it was The Invitation, the week before, The Waking by Theodore Roethke. Today, Ezra Pound’s Canto’s, Canto LXXXI, to be exact. The voice sounded strangely like Robert Pinsky. ” What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross. What  thou lovest well shall not be reft from thee. What thou lovest well is thy true heritage.”Again I’m astounded. I have no recollection of uploading or downloading these poems. No recollection of a CD containing these recordings. The voices are unfamiliar. They are not the voices of the poets. I researched my files. I found nothing.  I completely give myself over  to the miracle of a cosmic download. Poems delivered randomly. The poem I need most on a particular day, like today. ” What thou lovest well remains.” Today, the second day of my writing retreat.  I’m at my desk again. Manuscript open. Notebook open. Pen in hand.  Poems scattered about. Books open on the floor beside my chair.  Yesterday the return. Today the reminder.

My dear teacher, Liam Rector was taught by the Modernist scholar, Hugh Kenner, who visited Pound every Thursday when he was held in St. Elizabeth’s Hospital.  Rector taught me to read Pound. Pound taught me to “make it new.”  Heritage. My heritage. The persistent pursuit of a life of letters.