I should be writing now, not blogging. There is a difference. I have a 3:30 deadline for a 2,000-word article and I’ve only drafted half of the damn thing. But my brain is exploding and I need relief. Who, then, should I think of but Ezra Pound, poet and fruitcake? He wrote this poem, and I can only laugh. If St. Ezra is not the patron saint of writers, he should be.
“The Lake Isle”
O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,
With the little bright boxes
piled up neatly upon the shelves
And the loose fragrant cavendish
and the shag,
And the bright Virginia
loose under the bright glass cases,
And a pair of scales not too greasy,
And the whores dropping in for a word or two in passing,
For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit.
O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Lend me a little tobacco-shop,
or install me in any profession
Save this damn'd profession of writing,
where one needs one's brains all the time.