Olga Rudge & Ezra Pound: "What Thou Lovest Well..."

99 The Breaking Point
from Japan, and the exotic dress hanging on her mother’s looking-glass
door was a kimono. On the wall of the staircase leading up to the top floor
was a painting in shades of gray by the Japanese artist Tami Koumé:
‘‘chaos, the universe, or the torso of a giant, crucified.’’ The small studio
above was Mary’s room, with a bed ‘‘stifled with a voluminous mosquito
net,’’ a long bookcase, desk, and square wooden armchair, Ezra’s creations.
In the bookcase was a rare, crumbling volume of Ovid, bound with
wooden boards. In Canto 76, Ezra would recall,
the hidden nest, Tami’s dream, the great Ovid
bound in thick boards, the bas-relief of Ixotta.
The days of Mary’s yearly visits followed a familiar pattern. Immediately
after breakfast, her father (whom she called ‘‘Babbo’’) walked over
the bridge to Signora Scarpa’s, where he rented a room to work in. Mary
did not exactly understand what Babbo called ‘‘work’’; it wasn’t tending
the animals or harvesting the crops as the men did in her village. (Babbo
said he worked with his head. Hard work, much thinking. Everyone must
work, either with his hands or with his head, he told her.) His return
toward noon was signaled by the tapping of the black malacca cane, a
rattle of keys, and a loud, prolonged ‘‘Miao.’’ From the floor above, a
‘‘Miao’’ answered back. It was time to go shopping with Babbo, a happy
ritual for the child, a walk from San Gregorio to the Salute, or a short
traghetto ride across the Canal Grande or from Punta della Salute to San
Marco. After the errands, there were treats at Moriondo’s, the pastry shop,
or a stop for an aranciata at the American Bar under the clock tower.
When they returned, the sound of Olga practicing the violin: ‘‘precise,
passionate.’’ Again, ‘‘Miao.’’ The music stopped and Olga descended from
her room, and mother and daughter prepared a light lunch: often a salad
of plum tomatoes and white beans, cheese, artichokes and peaches, slices
of freshly baked bread. Olga liked to set an attractive table, and Mary’s job
was to find a few flowers creeping over the walls from the neighbor’s
garden to put in the finger bowls.
After lunch, Ezra went back to Signora Scarpa’s, and mother and
daughter stretched out together on the big velvet sofa. Olga read in