THOSE INNOCENT of the intrigues of the literary world
might suppose that Ezra Pound's imprisonment, as well as his
alleged insanity, would influence his critics in his favor, but any
creative talent that has swum too near the piranha-like jaws of
the liberal book reviewer knows too well that such is not the
case. The parasite prefers that its host should not defend itself,
and the waters of the literary world are constantly boiling as the
body of some new writer is torn to pieces and the stripped
skeleton slowly sinks to the bottom.

Ezra Pound was one of the few talents of the twentieth cen-
tury who survived every attack of these creatures. These half-
hearted talents have burrowed into the muscles of every literary
journal in the western world, in the approved manner of the
trichinosis worm, and from these vantage points they have steadily
sickened and paralyzed the healthy development of our literature.

It is too kind to explain their conduct by merely saying that
they had to project their sickness into their surroundings, and it
ignores the fact that the community has the right to protect itself
against any harmful influence, whether it be a rapist or a literary
critic who has allied himself with the forces of destruction. They
gained a certain strength through placing themselves in the hands
of the new Moloch, the monolithic power of the post-Rousseauian
madmen.

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