In a Station of the Metro

Searching for an old book by Ezra Pound, the one with his earlier, shorter works. I think I lent it to an old love once, from way back.

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A quick search in my bookshelf reveals that it’s one of the many things I lost to a relationship gone awry. Why why why.

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Pound was one of the many reasons why I fell in love with poetry. A man who likes to read is one of the many reasons why I fall in love.

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When Pound got off the train that day at La Concorde, he saw all these beautiful faces. He wrote a thirty-line poem. Destroyed it. Six months later, he wrote another one. Wasn’t satisfied by it. A year later: this poem.

It changed my life.

**In a Station of the Metro**

*Ezra Pound*

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:

Petals on a wet, black bough.