In Memoriam: Lawrence Rainey

Posted on 18 December 2020, University of York

We are deeply sorry to share news of the passing of Professor Lawrence Rainey, a giant of Modernist studies.

Rainey York

Lawrence was a Professor in the Department of English and Related Literature from 1998 until his retirement last year. We remember Lawrence as an inimitable figure: a brilliant and devoted researcher, an inspiring and sometimes demanding teacher, and a copiously knowledgeable raconteur. Common Room and corridor chats with Lawrence were always passionate, sparkling and informative, and he had a fierce interest in all aspects of contemporary politics, culture and life. He will be sorely missed by all who knew him.

A founding editor of Modernism/modernity, Lawrence wrote extensively on the classic works of Anglo-American modernism, including monographs on Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot. In 2005 he published two books on Eliot, Revisiting "The Waste Land" and The Annotated Waste Land with Eliot's Contemporary Prose. Both were jointly awarded the Robert Motherwell Book Prize for 2006 for an outstanding publication in the criticism of modernism in the arts. At the time of his death, Lawrence was continuing to pursue a longstanding and important project on a cultural history of the typist, secretary, or stenographer as depicted in film and fiction from 1890 to 1940.

The Department offers our sincere condolences to Lawrence's family and loved ones, and to all who knew him and shared in his passion for literature, learning and life. Lawrence's funeral will take place at 12 noon on Tuesday 22nd December at Heslington Church. We will commemorate Lawrence in a fuller tribute early in the new year: if you have memories of Lawrence that you would like to share, please email our Head of Department, Professor Helen Smith, directly.

 


 

Lawrence Rainey – In Memoriam

by Ben Madden

 

I once asked Lawrence if he had a favourite among the Cantos; without quite saying yes, he told me to read the fragment “From Canto CXV”: “The scientists are in terror / and the European mind stops...” Neither of us could have anticipated the terrible resonance of these lines today (as someone remarked, “‘Literature is news that STAYS news’”). But the line from this poem that stays with me, the line that emblematises something essential about what Lawrence taught me is this: “Their asperities diverted me in my green time” –the “they,” of course, being Eliot and Lewis and their sometimes-vituperative debates of the 1930s. Pound’s own asperities occupied Lawrence without diverting him: the years of his graduate research, trailing Pound across northern Italy on a Fulbright fellowship, were also the years during which he met his beloved Sonia. The fate of the scholar can too easily be a life in which “the dead [walk] / and the living [are] made of cardboard.” In spite of his fantastic capacity for work, for Lawrence, literature and scholarship justified themselves by deepening and enriching life as a whole.

In the wake of his death, I am moved to think of another poem that he commended to me: “Comment dire” or “what is the word,” Samuel Beckett’s final written work. I hadn’t thought of it alongside “From Canto CXV” before, but now I think of Pound’s lines:

A blown husk that is finished

but the light sings eternal

a pale flare over marshes

where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change

and I think of the magnificent, swelling music that emerges out of the sparsest ingredients at the climax of Beckett’s poem--“afaint afar away over there what— / folly for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what—” and I realise that it wasn’t the elegiac mode as such that attracted Lawrence to them, but how they evidence the lyric impulse’s indomitability: in spite of Pound’s disfigured life, and Beckett’s final illness, they sing.

Lawrence would have looked askance at the length of that last sentence, especially if it had appeared in a submission for Modernism/modernity. “Well,” he would have begun (eyebrow still raised a little), “if the syntax supports it...” because while he favoured short sentences, he was undogmatic. Perhaps Lawrence’s most important lesson (not that I didn’t have an inkling of this already) was how to relish dwelling in language, as a reader, a writer, and an editor. In his own role as editor of M/m, and, I’m sure, as supervisor to many graduate students, he modelled a way of insisting on good writing without recourse to stale formulae. His own writing was and remains pellucid (but couldn’t I have just said “clear”?) In this he was quietly, and sometimes loudly, polemical: literary criticism is entitled to deal with difficult concepts; it is not entitled to become unreadable in doing so. One of his earliest pieces of advice to me as a writer was: “go to the library, read a volume of Glyph, and then do the opposite.” 

This is not to say that Lawrence was a luddite within the discipline. His intellectual formation coincided with the ascendency of Theory, and in order to oppose its excesses, he first mastered its premises. In the introduction to his first monograph, Ezra Pound and the Monument of Culture: Text, History, and the Malatesta Cantos, he writes:

Desire, Language, Intertextuality, Representation, Mimetic Violence—the bloated abstractions that dominate contemporary literary studies—may all be found here. Yet with few exceptions they appear in their everyday garb: wearing bathrobes, jotting notes, glancing at train schedules, reading newspapers, going to libraries, indulging in tourism, strolling amid the ruins of antiquity. (3)

To bring the bloated abstractions down to earth through detailed historical investigation informed by an awareness that literature is generated in the material practice of writing: this was the method that allowed Lawrence to help spark the massive scholarly renewal we now call “the New Modernist Studies.” But notice that, bloated though they may be, the abstractions are still to be found here; in Lawrence’s work there is a consistent refusal to sublimate, to conceal, or falsely to reconcile conflict (for instance, the conflict between empirical and theoretical approaches that animates his first book). Lawrence affirmed his commitment to materialism and historicism in the age of Theory’s ascendency because he saw the holding together of conflicting positions in productive tension as the only route to new knowledge.

Returning to Ezra Pound and the Monument of Culture now, what strikes me most is its insistent call for a literary scholarship that focusses on transmission, instead of just production and reception. By “transmission,” Lawrence means: 

The sum of processes and forces that issue in the sociomaterial instance of every work... Transmission is constitution at the intersection of material, institional, and ideological mediation… [it] precedes every act of production or reception: writers do not engage with “intertextuality,” and readers encounter only works that are presented to them in specific material forms, each presaturated with its own history of transmission. (7)

As opposed to the all-too-readily idealised, static moments of production and reception, the moment of transmission is continuous, and demands not only precise historical investigation to unfold, but self-conscious recognition on the part of the scholar or critic they do not occupy a lofty position of mastery over this process, but are inevitably involved in it. 

How bracing to find an account of literary scholarship for which what we do matters, because it is continuous with the other processes stretching through time that disseminate a text in the world. How refreshing to encounter--in a first monograph of all things--a scholar determined to intervene in the fundamental debates shaping the discipline, instead of engaging in the propaedeutic piling up of citation after unquestioned citation from the gnostic priests of Theory. If Lawrence joined, in his own cranky and heterodox way, a wave of historicism rising up to challenge Theory’s hegemony, that wave never quite washed away its opponent, and the productive tension that Lawrence sought has also loosened into what might be called charitably a methodological eclecticism--and uncharitably, a void. Into that void has sometimes stepped a kind of politics premised on the reification of identity categories, and concomitantly, the demand that works of literature adhere to certain transhistorical codes of morality. A scholar who began his career researching Pound was always destined to look askance at these tendencies, even more so when the study resulting from that research starts from not just a recognition of fascism as “the central tragedy of the twentieth century,” but a warning that the tragedy recurs daily in the occlusions of our writing and our pedagogy, in our failures to attend to history seriously enough (4). In his conclusion to Ezra Pound and the Monument of Culture, Lawrence writes that addressing the urgent questions that emerge from that history will require, among other things,

That we reject sincere but ingenuous moralisms, facile appeals to a contemporary consensus in the formation of which fascism itself has played a crucial part, or the allure of abstract coherencies beyond all reality—the concatenations of empty concepts assimilated to the play of “self” and “other” now so characteristic of literary studies. (225)

That these lines now seem uncannily prescient hardly needs to be said--or perhaps they testify to a discipline that has changed far less over the previous three decades than it tends to tell itself.

By the time that his call for a scholarship that centres the dynamics of transmission blossomed into the essays that make up Institutions of Modernism, that early sharpness had mellowed somewhat into a pervasive wryness and a love of paradox sometimes bordering on the perverse, as when, having set out in characteristic detail the story of The Dial’s and Horace Liveright’s acquisition of rights to publish “The Waste Land” without having yet read the poem, Lawrence concludes that under some conditions, non-reading might be preferable to the kinds of reading literary critics have typically done. (Not for nothing did he keep an open mind about distant reading.) Looking over Institutions now, I note that it begins with a scene from 1853, of Charles Dickens holding court at a banquet in Birmingham, praising literature’s emancipation from aristocratic patronage: “The people have set literature free.” The moment of Dickens’s triumphalism would, before the century’s end, give way to the crystallisation of the cultural field into (seemingly) mutually hostile domains of the “high” and the “low,” and a growing anxiety among authors about the domain of the market and new methods of textual dissemination; modernist writers’ positions within this new constellation would emerge, in Lawrence’s telling, as a far more nuanced set of negotiations than the polarised narratives of either postmodernism or the avant-garde could allow. 

By the time I met him, Lawrence was a retiring man, not given to occupying centre stage (his days singing and playing guitar in a rock band called Los Mutilados seemingly well behind him), but there is in his work a consistent fascination with the figure of the performer and the impresario. The point of beginning Institutions with Dickens is to underscore with dramatic irony the new dimensions of the cultural field in which Marinetti, and then, on his model, Pound, would emerge as ringleaders of Futurism and Imagism respectively, before converging again in their disastrous identification with the terrible impresario of Fascism, their ideal patron, Mussolini. But counterposed with these baleful examples, there are others, like Marie Lloyd, the working-class musical hall performer who protested her exclusion from the 1912 gala, attended by George V and thus inaugurating the Royal Variety Performances, by staging her own show at the London Pavilion; the posters advertising the event announced: “Every performance by Marie Lloyd is a command performance!”--a story that Lawrence loved to tell. For all the debunking and undermining in his work--and an inattentive reader might see his oeuvre precisely as an example of what Rita Felski has recently disparaged under the label of “critique”--Lawrence was always alive to the enchantments that art affords.

Perhaps Marie Lloyd’s most famous admirer was T. S. Eliot. Lawrence reproduced Eliot’s London Letters from 1922 in his edition of “The Waste Land,” with their several references to Lloyd. These and Eliot’s ensuing London Letter reflecting on Lloyd’s death in October, 1922, became central to my reading of Eliot, because they disclose one of “The Waste Land”’s most potent tensions, that is, between the antiquarian project announced by the notes and allusions, and the actual texture of the poem, in which so much of its verbal energy is derived from the vernacular. Lawrence always celebrated art that draws its energy from the vernacular: I think, in particular, of the course he offered on the films of the Italian Neo-Realists, and the passion he evinced in it for Fellini and Pasolini. 

Although he lived in the United Kingdom for twenty-two years, Lawrence remained ineluctably an American, indeed, a Midwesterner, in a way that Eliot did not. He was determined, I think, not to surrender to the blandishments of the class system in the way that some Americans in Britain do. Perhaps this is why he felt at home at York, a university that tries to reflect the values of Britain’s post-war social democratic experiment, not the ancient prerogatives of its privileged classes. It seems to me that he never lost sight of what a privilege it is to make reading, thinking about, and writing about literature one’s profession. If you listen to his appearance on BBC Radio 4’s “In Our Time,” discussing “The Waste Land,” you will hear an almost boyish volubility in his contributions.

Lawrence loved to talk about literature, and those conversations I shared with him--in the office, over lunch, strolling across Walmgate Stray--were the site of my real education. Lawrence was a giant of modernist scholarship, and a tough-minded, but generous, teacher. I’ve tried to give an account here, from a personal point of view, of his intellectual contribution and his personal style, but any attempt to do that must inevitably fail to compass a truly singular man. My debt to him as a teacher and a mentor is too large to repay, and I know there are many others who would say the same. 

 

 


 

Lawrence Rainey – In Memoriam

by Stefano Maria Casella

 

“Quando sarai a Yale, cerca di Lawrence Rainey” (When you are at Yale, look for Lawrence Rainey) advised me Massimo Bacigalupo when I asked him some tips about my first visit to the Beinecke, in late Summer 1990.

“Rainy? Reiny?”: uncertain about the spelling, I mis-jotted down the name on the back of a photocopy of a map, which I still have as a keepsake of that unforgettable first visit to New Haven, some thirty years ago.

Once arrived at New Haven, spotted the Beinecke, and registered at the Reception, I asked the librarians at the desk where I could find professor Lawrence Rainey.

Our first meeting took place some days later. The Beinecke librarians and assistants (at least at that time) were always so kind and active in helping newcomers to establish contacts with other scholars from various parts of the world working on the same topics and authors. I was introduced also to a most delightful and unforgettable Japanese lady, Akiko Miyake, and to an authentic American gentleman, always smartly dressed with light blue seersucker jackets and pink or lily neckties, James J. Wilhelm. I also met David Moody, whom I already knew, and I still am in debt with him for encouraging me to join the “T.S. Eliot Society”—which I did, thus becoming the first Italian member to be accepted in that assembly/gathering/forum of Eliot scholars.

But to Lawrence: a tall, slender gentleman with short hair often tousled, reading glasses, and frequently a cigarette in his fingers (where smoking was not banished/forbidden).

After a brief formal introduction and an exchange of information about my research on the Ezra Pound Papers, he gave me an appointment in his studio, but I do not remember in which college: after so many years, I really don’t.

What I remember are Lawrence’s deep and wide literary and historical knowledge – and not only of Pound and Eliot and Modernist authors – his thought-provoking and often puzzling questions, which he posed apparently in an absent-minded way, as if he were following the course of his thoughts, and his curiosity, witty irony, and jokes, as well as his spontaneous generosity and helpfulness: he never kept jealously for himself the results –and also the initial ideas-- of his research and projects, but always shared them with enthusiasm and selflessness: I remember he sent me a big batch of rare unpublished materials related to Pound, without ever thinking I could have “stolen” his ideas and projects about them.

“Have you never asked yourself why the Cantos begin with the conjunction ‘And’? What comes before that ‘And’?”

“Why does Pip ‘…want to be a gentleman”, not unlike Leporello who sings ‘Voglio fare il gentiluomo / E non voglio più servir’?”

“How many Fauns are there in the panorama of English literature at the end of the Nineteenth century, and why?”

He had a thorough knowledge of the Italian history of the “Ventennio”: what Pound did in Italy; his meeting with “The Boss”; the agency of Nancy Cox McCormack; the story of Lauro de Bosis, not to mention his topic of that moment: the “Malatesta Cantos”, their sources, the relationship with The Waste Land, Pound’s visits to Rimini and “il Tempio”, the fake new upon which Canto 73 is built.

Not less fascinating his research on T.S. Eliot and the drafts of The Waste Land: Lawrence always carried in his pockets a tiny instrument, a micro-caliper to gauge the thickness of the different kinds of paper used by The Possum in the various drafts of the poem; he taught me how important it is to check the kind and, when possible, the filigree of the leaves of manuscripts and typescripts used by the poets. I was so enthusiast about this method that whenever the librarians gave me new folders of Pound’s Papers, I examined in backlit every leaf of paper, and sometimes had interesting proofs of the validity of the method in my research about the Guido Cavalcanti mss for the 1931 Genoese Marsano edition. 

At that time, I had a one-year-old child, Sebastiano (whom he called “Sebastianino”). He remarked jokingly how the three of us had been given very special names of patron saints: San Lorenzo, who had been grilled, Santo Stefano, stoned to death, and San Sebastiano, pierced with arrows.

Apropos of our respective families, he introduced me to his Greek wife Sonia: they invited me to dinner in their house in the woods of Hamden/CT, where he showed me the wild fauna and flora of the place (in particular, I remember raccoons and venomous ivy), and the earliest signs of the Indian Summer. He also honoured me with his personal confidence, and we often confided each other personal and familiar episodes.

So, for several years in the Nineties, our autumnal meetings at New Haven became a pleasant appointment between friends. Every time there were literary, professional, and family news to exchange. I remember his enthusiasm when he founded Modernism/modernity in 1994 together with professor von Hallberg: he showed to me the blurb/flyer of the new-born magazine, explaining in detail the project, and also asked me to help him translating it into Italian – a language he however mastered in an excellent way, so that we could switch from English to Italian, and reciprocally learn from, and correct, each other.  

After the Nineties, we lost track of each other: he had moved to York, where I never had the opportunity to travel and visit him.

But he was always present through his new books and essays in modernist studies, which were most frequently mentioned in the Conferences with admiration for his authority in the field (I also happened to hear mean and venomous insinuations, evidently by envious people, worth only of the Dantescan dismissal “non ragioniam di lor…”).

For me, his had become a kind of “isolated superiority”, impossible to deny or not to acknowledge and recognize. As for the rest, his books speak for him.

“And then he went down to the ship…”: 

<<Ciao, Lawrence>>

 


 

Lawrence Rainey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Lawrence Rainey Bibliography 1986-2015

compiled by Archie Henderson

DISSERTATION

Rainey, Lawrence Scott. “The Earliest Manuscripts of the Malatesta Cantos by Ezra Pound.” Diss. U of Chicago, 1986.

BOOKS

Ezra Pound and the Monument of Culture: Text, History, and the Malatesta Cantos. Chicago and London: U of Chicago P, 1991.

Institutions of Modernism: Literary Elites and Public Culture. New Haven: Yale UP, 1998 [1. The Creation of the Avant-Garde: F. T. Marinetti and Ezra Pound, 10-41, free online; 3. The Price of Modernism: Publishing The Waste Land, 77-106; 4. From the Patron to il Duce: Ezra Pound’s Odyssey, 107-145].

EDITED COLLECTION

A Poem Containing History. Textual Studies in The Cantos.  Ed. Lawrence Rainey.  Ann Arbor: U. of Michigan Press, 1997. [Introduction, 1-20; “All I Want You to Do is to Follow the Orders”: History, Faith, and Fascism in the Early Cantos, 63-116]

ARTICLES AND BOOK CHAPTERS

Litz, A. Walton, and Lawrence Rainey. “Ezra Pound.” The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism. Volume 7: Modernism and the New Criticism. Eds. A. Walton Litz, Louis Menand, and Lawrence Rainey. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000. 57-92. Chapter summary.

“Between Mussolini and Me: Pound’s Fascism.” London Review of Books 21.6 (18 Mar. 1999): 22-25.  Free online.

“The Creation of the Avant-Garde: F. T. Marinetti and Ezra Pound.”  Modernism/modernity 1.3 (September 1994): 195-220. Excerpt.

 “The cultural economy of Modernism.” The Cambridge Companion to Modernism, ed. Michael Levenson. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999. 33-68. Free online.

 “The Donald Gallup Collection of Ezra Pound.” The Yale University Library Gazette 66.3-4 (April 1992): 157-161. First page.

“The Letters and the Spirit: Pound’s Correspondence and the Concept of Modernism.” Text 7 (1994): 365-396. First page.

 “The Malatesta Cantos and the Making of Ideology.” American Poetry 6.2 (Winter 1989): 15-27.

 “A Poem including History: The Cantos of Ezra Pound. Introduction to an exhibition at the Beinecke Library, September-December 1989.” Paideuma 21.1-2 (Spring and Fall 1992): 199-220. First page.

“Pound, Ezra (1885-1972).” Encyclopedia of Modern Europe: Europe Since 1914: Encyclopedia of the Age of War and Reconstruction. Vol. 4. Charles Scribner’s Sons, 2006. 2070-2071. Free online.

 “Pound Or Eliot: Whose Era?” The Cambridge Companion to Modernist Poetry. Eds. Alex Davis and David Jenkins. Cambridge, England: Cambridge UP, 2007. 87-113. Print.

 “The Price of Modernism: Reconsidering the Publication of The Waste Land.” Critical Quarterly 31.4 (Winter 1989): 21-47. First page.

EDITION

Cox-McCormack, Nancy. “Ezra Pound in the Paris Years.” Ed. Lawrence S. Rainey. The Sewanee Review 102.1 (Winter 1994): 93-112. First page.

REVIEWS

Rev. of Ezra Pound and Italian Fascism, by Tim Redman. American Literature 64.2 (1992): 387-388.

Rev. of Ezra Pound: Poet: A Portrait of the Man and His Work. Vol. 2. The Epic Years, 1921-1939, by A. David Moody. Modern Philology 113.1 (Aug. 2015): E50-E52. Web. 3 Jan. 2016.  Free online and here.

Rev. of Modernism, the Market, and the Institution of the New, by Rod Rosenquist. Modern Language Quarterly 71.4 (Dec. 2010): 489-492. Print.

Rev. of Waking Giants: Modernism and the Presence of the Past, by Herbert N. Schneidau. Criticism 35.2 (1993): 289+. Excerpt.

 


 

Denis Donoghue (1929-2021)

by Walter Baumann

It was in March 1973 when G. Singh organized a Commemorative Symposium for Ezra Pound at Queen’s University in Belfast. Denis Donoghue was one of the invited speakers. Oliver Edwards and I were to pick him up from the “Enterprise,” the Dublin to Belfast train. We were a bit late and the platform seemed empty. Eventually, when we looked high enough, we saw him, all the 6ft 7in of him. He hadn’t seen us because he hadn’t looked low enough. My car was a tiny, rusty old Fiat 500. I can’t remember how he ever managed to clamber into the passenger seat.

Ezra Pound’s Selected Prose had appeared just weeks before. It was from Denis I first heard the phrase from the now, thanks to Cookson, generally accessible: “I Gather the Limbs of Osiris,” so crucial in Pound’s thought and writing: the “luminous detail.” I’ve pretty well forgotten everything else Denis said, but that he introduced me to the concept of the “luminous detail” I have remembered all these 48 years. 

The second time I met Denis Donoghue was in June 2003. To mark his 75th birthday a conference was held in his honour at the Linen Hall Library in Belfast entitled “Transatlantic Poetics and the Discipline of Literature.” In a coffee break he and I had a very nice chat about the symposium of 30 years ago and about Oliver Edwards, my predecessor at Magee College and our mutual friend, who, like Denis himself, never got the life of W. B. Yeats written. It was just before that symposium that Denis had withdrawn from his contract with Oxford University Press to write the authorized biography of Yeats because the literary executor, Senator Michael Yeats, had allowed other Yeats scholars access to documents that Denis considered were for his exclusive use. 

My last chat with Denis was at Hailey Airport after the Sun Valley Pound conference, also in 2003. He had been the invited keynote speaker. Under the title “A Packet for Ezra Pound,” he delivered his thoughts about being an American in Europe, as reflected in Henry James, T. S. Eliot and Pound. He admitted that this was only his second essay on Pound. Most of his other writings on him are reviews of Pound books, usually published in the Irish Times. I wouldn’t call Denis a Poundian, but a very friendly observer of Poundians.

When we had boarded the rather cramped commuter plane to Salt Lake City, I noticed that they had given Denis the seat at the back, where he had more room for his long legs than in my tiny Fiat 500 48 years earlier.  


Denis Donoghue’s Writings on Pound 1959-2019

compiled by Archie Henderson

1. The Third Voice: Modern British and American Drama. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959. Third Printing, 1966. Rpt. in the Princeton Legacy Library series in 2015. [13. Ezra Pound and Women of Trachis, 213-222, first page].

2. “Ezra Pound’s School Book.” Lugano Review 1.3-4 (Summer 1965): 133-146. Rpt. in Donoghue, The Ordinary Universe: Soundings in Modern Literature (New York: Macmillan, 1968), pp. 291-308.

3. “The Cooling of an Admiration: Pound’s Interest in a Protégé of Yeats.” Rev. of Pound/Joyce, ed. Forrest Read. The Times Literary Supplement 3497 (6 Mar. 1969): 239-240.

4. “James’s The Awkward Age and Pound’s Mauberley.” Notes and Queries 17.2 (February 1970): 49-50. First pageSecond page.

5. [Speech on Ezra Pound and History, delivered at the Commemorative Symposium held at Queen’s University of Belfast in March 1973]. Paideuma 3.2 (Fall 1974): 158-161. Quoted in the course of G. Singh, “Ezra Pound: A Commemorative Symposium. Chairman: Professor John Braidwood,” pp. 151-168.

6. “Mediterranean Man.” Rev. of Ezra Pound, by Donald Davie. Partisan Review 44.3 (Summer 1977): 452-457. Free online.

7. “Wiring up the New Place.” Rev. of Hugh Kenner, A Homemade World: The American Modernist WritersThe Times Literary Supplement 3970 (5 May 1978): 499.

8. We Irish: Essays on Irish Literature and Society. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1986 [Pound/Joyce [a rev. of Pound/Joyce, ed. Forrest Read, orig. pub. Times Literary Supplement, 6 March 1969], 100-106, free online].

9. “Pound’s Book of Beasts.” Rev. of Pound as Wuz: Essays and Lectures on Ezra Pound, by James Laughlin; The Genealogy of Demons: Anti-Semitism, Fascism, and the Myths of Ezra Pound, by Robert Casillo; Stone Cottage: Pound, Yeats, and Modernism, by James Longenbach; Ezra Pound: The Solitary Volcano, by John Tytell. New York Review of Books 35.9 (June 2, 1988): 14-16. Excerpt.

10. Strand, Ivan. “The Suburban Prejudice.” Letter on Denis Donoghue’s omnibus review “Pound’s Book of Beasts” [NYR, June 2]. New York Review of Books 35.17 (November 10, 1988). With a reply by Denis Donoghue. Free online.

11. Tytell, John. “Judging Pound.” Letter on Denis Donoghue’s review of Tytell’s biography of Ezra Pound [NYR, June 2]. New York Review of Books 35.18 (November 24, 1988). With a reply by Denis Donoghue. Free online.

12. “Poetry and Sanity.” Rev. of A Serious Character: The Life of Ezra Pound, by Humphrey Carpenter; The American Ezra Pound, by Wendy Stallard Flory. New Republic 200.10 (6 March 1989): 38-40.

13. “Pound’s Joyce, Eliot’s Joyce.” James Joyce: The Artist and the Labyrinth. Ed. Augustine Martin. London: Ryan, 1990. 293-311.

14. The Old Moderns: Essays on Literature and Theory.  New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1994, passim.

15. “A Packet for Ezra Pound.” Paideuma: Studies in American and British Modernist Poetry 34.2-3 (Fall & Winter 2005): 99-119. Free online.

16. Irish Essays.  New York: Cambridge UP, 2011 [4. Three Presences: Yeats, Eliot, Pound, 79-97].

17. “Three Presences: Yeats, Eliot, Pound.”  Hudson Review 62.4 (Winter 2010): 563-582. Free online.

18. “Pound notes.” Rev. of Ezra Pound to His Parents: Letters 1895-1929, eds. Mary de Rachewiltz, A. David Moody and Joanna Moody. New Criterion 30.1 (September 2011). Excerpt.

19. Rev. of Ezra Pound: Poet. A Portrait of the Man and his Work. Vol. 2, by David Moody.” The Irish Times (Dec. 5, 2014). Free online.

20. Ezra Pound Poet, Vol 3. The Tragic Years 1939-1972 review: rhyme and treason.” The Irish Times (Jan. 30, 2016). Free online.

21. “The Kenner-Davenport Era.”  The Hopkins Review 12.3 (Summer 2019): 426-436. Free online.