20 / CHRONICLESnmind and ear. In each instance, the true voice-print of thenpoet, derived from the poetry on the page itself, is clearlyndiscernible. Having heard Eliot read his poems at BostonnCollege and on other campuses and listening to him onnCaedmon records, one knew at once why the word “sepulchral”nhad already become a usable term in describing theneffect of his tone of voice and general demeanor before annaudience. But when he used this same tone of voice in then”Old Possum” verses, which would later become theninspiration for the Broadway musical Cats, Eliot achievednone of the quietly hilarious performances of our time. Henleft us much more than that, of course, in a body of worknwhich not only includes the extraordinary poetry but somenexceptional criticism and at least one play. Murder in thenCathedral (1935), which ought to survive as performedndrama of a very high order.nIn the end, it was inevitable that someone should havenpointed out, as the poet Richard Eberhart took pains to donEZRA POUND’S LANGUAGE OFnETERNITY’ by Peter LaurienWhat (to ask one bizarrely unfashionable question) isncivilization? Set aside geography, climate, genetics,nand luck. The high classical civilizations are marked byncertain indispensible accomplishments: a serious respect fornfacts; related to this, a steady application of work towardnstable wealth; a conception of justice moving in twondirections, toward society as a whole and toward individuals,nimplying also respect for family, the process of ancestrynand descent, the commonnesses—but also the differencesn—among persons; a sense of the divine mystery of beingnand the cosmos; and finally, all of the above taking placenwithin and by grace of the handing down from generation tongeneration of a rational polity—in other words, respect fornthe rule of law.nThere are exactly three loci of sustained high classicalncivilization: the Mediterranean world, which ultimatelynblew north-northwest on the winds of renaissance andnreformation; the Far Eastern world of China (and laternJapan); the so-called New World—meaning northnorthwestnof a certain navigator’s landfall on the shores of antropic isle later called Santo Domingo.nLet it not pass unnoted that some centuries earlier ancertain Venetian made a diplomatic journey overland to ancertain Great Khan who ruled what a certain gifted drugnaddict would one day call a “stately pleasure dome,”nCathay, whence he brought into fashion preservative spices,nprimitive explosives, paper money, and spaghetti. Let itnnot pass unnoted that both the pedestrian and the navigatornPeter Laurie is a poet and scholar whose work hasnappeared in Poetry, St. Andrews Review, and ThenHarvard Advocate. An earlier version of this essay wasngiven as a lecture at Dartmouth College in October 1986.nnnsome years ago, that for 20 years after Four Quartets, andntherefore until Eliot’s death in 1965, the major poet of ourntime had remained creatively inactive, whereas Frost andnothers had produced notable poems to the very end. It isncaptious to make much of this, however, if we fail also tonrealize that within Eliot’s brief span of creative effort henachieved, without question, a level of development beyondnwhich it was impossible to go—in the same way, perhaps,nthat we may consider Beethoven’s last sonatas and quartetsnas points beyond which we cannot go, at least not as far asnart is concerned. Beyond that point, of course, lies thenmystical experience itself The rest is silence and the musicnof silence. Other poets have not achieved as much, evennwith the blessing of life spans greater than Eliot’s, and sonthey repeated themselves to the very end and in modes nownthoroughly familiar. The permanence of T.S. Eliot, asnperhaps the preeminent voice of the 20th century, remainsnassured.nsubsequentiy passed some years in jail for opinions out ofnphase with conventional wisdoms.nEarly in our present century, a young American male setnout for this Venice, whose Republic was one stepfather tonour own, to dedicate his life to writing the definitive poemnof civilization. His poem occupied 50 and more years of hisnturbulent life and flat out requires its readers to becomenfamiliar with the Greek of Homer and Plotinus, the Latin ofnCatullus and Roman law, the idiogram of various ConfuciannClassics, the Occitan of troubadours, the French ofnVillon and Magna Charta, the English, even, of Layamon,nSir Edward Coke, and John Adams. Needless to say,nAmericans, who have been freed by their educators fromnthe necessity to learn history or languages, do not read thisnpoem.nIn an age when writers, apart from obligatory influencesnlike Dostoevsky, Freud, and Kafka, are supposed to be whatnJohn Berryman said he was—“fiendishly original,” thisnmost modern of modern poets (who once told a Frenchnsurrealist he admired “bon sens plus que I’originalite”)ndeliberately set out to be as comprehensively derivative asnpossible. Ezra Pound shows the vital influence of virtuallynevery great poet who ever wrote. He even quotes wholensequences of these other poets in the middle of his poem!nOnly a supremely endowed master of his art who was alsonsupremely aware of who he was (in other words “fiendishlynoriginal”) could bring off such a thing. “It takes strengthn(retorted Vergil to a suggestion he was too influenced bynHomer) “to wrest the torch from the hand of Hercules.” Sonwe confront a Pound/Homer, also a Pound/Sappho, anPound/Catullus, a Pound/Propertius, a Pound/Dante, anPound/Villon, a PoundAVang Wei (this is a very partialnlist), a Pound/Thomas Jefferson, a Pound/Confucius, onn