Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Charles Olson, Letter to Ezra Pound (1948)

Ya, I know, people don’t get time these days. And agreed: the only way to get a core is what you tell us. But brother: we get decomposed here. We are not decomposition via the Atlantic. The frontier here is where you are—also where my father arrived. And my grandfather, to get the date back before the post hoc fallacy…

The breakdown of the cells: the Indians of the Northwest used to call all whites “Boston men.” Yr gd damn Europeans (I speak of my ancestors) (and yrs) acted from the start like a fucking bunch of G.I.s on leave in invaded country. Holiday. (Exception: Cabeza de Vaca. He knew.
            His grandfather had conquered the
            Canaries, and C de V was raised by
            “colored” folk.)
Aristotelian VD bastards.

I’m with you. You got to start somewhere. Ok. We’re starting. But let’s you see what yr people are. Truculent ummugrunts.
                                                           Yes sir.
                                                                 one of em
                                                           CHARLES JOHN HINES OLSON

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