“The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.”
I love this poem (actually, i like “Portrait D’une Femme” more – but i don’t have the time to get into that). When i first read In a Station of the Metro i was fully transfixed with the idea of the moment. That is the great idea in this piece of Pound’s poetry. We see the beauty, the sheer tapestry of the instant. In 14 words he is able to paint a picture in our minds as big a Grand Central Station.
I am blanking on who i could compare Pound to. The obvious thing to do is to compare him to Haiku writers because of the small place they have to tell their story. But that isn’t exactly right because it inst the same format.
Another way i wanted to go was to compare him to Allen Ginsberg, simply because i read them the same way. I imagine a sort of distinct diction being placed on each syllable and the visualization they connote. But comparing any Ginsberg to this – in terms of length – is like comparing something big to something really small (i am all out of well thought out prose, at the moment).
What makes this poem so amazing is the fact it is incomparable. And i think i will leave it at that.