ABSTRACT
We find ourselves, again, in debt to New Directions, now that the latest cantos of Ezra Pound are available in a volume to themselves, printed from the same fonts as the preceding Cantos, and also in a collected edition. This publication is admirable—and far from being simply an admirable act of piety. The poet remains in St. Elizabeth's Hospital, Washington, adjudged too ill in mind to stand trial for treason; and it is easy to look for and discover in the poetry evidence of his illness. That evidence is almost certainly there in quantities strongly confirmatory for the diagnostician. As for the average, untuned reader, long since put off by Pound's polylingual reveries and idiosyncratic structure, he may not see any greater reward for patience in the new Cantos than in the old. But this is not inevitable nor desirable.
