There is a long post here about the imagist poet Amy Lowell. It’s a good post about the perception others have of fat women in personal and professional settings.
Amy Lowell was a compatriot of Ezra Pound. You know how they say many fat people eat out of emotion? I think maybe Amy ate because she had to bury the grief of having Pound be one of her friends. Because, really, I am hard-pressed to think of a bigger jerk in the world of literature than Ezra Pound. You know what he called Amy? A “hippopoetess”.
Of course, if Amy Lowell wanted to keep company with Ezra Pound
I suppose that’s her business. A lot of people who seem like jerks are actually old softies when you get to know them. But honestly, Ezra Pound is just creepy. He is the quintessential jerk of poetry. It doesn’t help that he said
“the arts in their rightful place as the acknowledged guide and lamp of civilisation”
Dude, honestly. Come down off your high horse. It’s as though Pound was the early-20th century version of those actors who think that their 96 minute film should change the way we all think and live. I appreciate art/literature/poetry/film/music a great deal, but I certainly don’t think that all civilisation is guided by them. That quote just sounds like Pound’s excuse to his mother for why he didn’t become a doctor.