Ezra Pound and the kind of writer I want to be

Ezra, Ezra, what was going on in your skull when you made those anti-American broadcasts in fascist Italy during World War II?  Heaven only knows. So many despicable things you said.

But before all that, back in England, early part of the twentieth century, you got T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" published, when no one else could. You got James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man serialized. You even served as W.B. Yeats' secretary for a while when Yeats' eyesight was failing. In 1921, you moved to Paris and continued helping people. Hemingway, for one. And, once again, T.S. Eliot. Eliot sent you the manuscript of "The Waste Land," and you, Ezra Pound, cut and moved, decried and suggested. Eliot has always acknowledged your contribution. He said,"I should like to think that the manuscript, with its suppressed passages, had disappeared irrecoverably; yet, on the other hand, I should wish the blue pencilling on it to be preserved as irrefutable evidence of Pound's critical genius." Eliot dedicated the poem to you.
                                                                       

Example of Ezra Pound's editing of "The Waste Land." They found the manuscript.

You helped a lot of artists significantly at critical junctures in their careers. I think it's safe to say that you helped shape the literary landscape of the twentieth century.
                                                                     

Then you went bonkers. But the fact that you went bonkers and made those lamentable broadcasts is not what you will be remembered for—I hope. I know you would want to be remembered for your poetry. What I also hope you are remembered for is your generosity. Your support of artists you believed in, and for getting them noticed.
                                                                            

Ezra Pound

This is the kind of writer I want to be. Yes, certainly, remembered (if at all) for my books. But also for trying to help younger writers. Even older writers. Anyone who deserves to have his or her work recognized. I can't begin to have your influence, Ezra. Who could? I probably don't have any influence at all. (I know writers who do have influence who won't raise a hand. God not preserve them.) It's not that I'm aiming for. It's the spirit of what you did. Of knowing how hard it is to make any sort of dent in the arts, much less make a living. Of being someone who believes in the younger, or older, artist.

We should all have someone who believes in us. Sometimes, it's the only thing that keeps us going.