Property, intellectual

I just came across this extraordinary document by the son of the poet, Louis Zukofsky. What a piece of shit he appears to be, though there's something almost admirable about his determination to present himself in the worst light possible. I've had his father's work sitting on my shelf for years, but this is the first time I've felt the slightest urge to quote from it or, indeed, refer to it in any way. Zukofsky has always seemed the least interesting of the group of writers with whom he's associated. Certainly, he isn't a patch on George Oppen. I assume I'm allowed to say that without attracting the wrath of his appalling son.

I was going to post a picture of Zukofsky to go with this, risking who knows what legal brimstone from Singapore, but while I was looking I came across this one of Pound, a better-looking man and a finer poet, so I thought I'd use it instead. Fuck off, PZ.

Labels: memory (part two)

There's a limit to the number of labels a post can have. This is part two of the precding post:

young people: unsynthesised manifold
plum: map
louise bourgeois: manners
madonna: libraries
mother: received truth
nico: moral relativism

That's enough for now...

Bad manners

It might not have been the most stomach-turning thing I saw this year, but it came close. Travelling to Rome by train a few weeks ago, I watched the youngish smartly-dressed woman on the seat opposite me carefully twist a lock of hair into a strand and then use the strand, with considerable vigour, to floss her teeth.