last try

I have been writing ten or fifteen poems a week since I
                    finished my 3rd. novel 9 months ago.

I drink at the typewriter and sometimes eat at the type-
                    writer–there is tartar sauce smeared
                    on the carriage now from a fish dinner
                    I had an hour ago.

I am profligate and prolific.   but that isn’t the complaint.
                    most of the poems work for me, I only
                    tear up about one in six.

what bothers me is that in these 9 months I have attempted
                    3 or 4 of what I call “Ezra Pound poems”
                    and I just don’t have any luck with them
                    I have to rip them.

I once corresponded with one of Pound’s x-girl friends and
                    she wrote me many curious and strange
                    things about him but when I sit down
                    to write about him, I fail.

I have good things to say about him, and maybe that’s it:
                    maybe if I laid the grease to him I
                    could have a nice poem.

but I liked the way he worked the line, although some of the
                    cantos backed me up and made me feel
                    tricked.

Pound will be around much longer than I will; likewise
                    Henry Miller, Celine and E.E.Cummings.
                    but Pound made me feel good, there is
                    the taste of steel and carving and
                    splendid construction about him.

                    I have a giant black cat who makes
                    me think of Pound
                    he is the biggest cat I have ever
                    seen–nobody bothers him
and when he stretches out on the rug you can see the
                    length of him
                    those paws, legs, that head
                    he’s like Ezra Pound was
                    he is a miracle, bigger than any-
                    thing like him around
                    that’s all I can say:
                    he’s like Ezra Pound was.

the cat is asleep now and I look at him and feel good.