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

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had brought from Japan]. The first night I put her on her bed with the
windows open, so all the valley and the mountains were close to her. The
next day we brought her to the courtyard chapel (St. Michael’s), and she
stayed there until Tuesday. Sunday, St. Patrick’s [Day], the priest from the
village came for the Rosary with the village people and local friends and
the students. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren read passages
from The Cantos, and Professor Singh wrote a beautiful poem. One of the
students played ‘I did it my way . . .’ on the saxophone, and brought tears.’’
Tuesday morning, Mary went to Venice to arrange for another service
at St. George’s English Church, San Vio, in Mary’s words, ‘‘very beautiful,
with Vivaldi music.’’ The friends who were with Olga for Ezra’s memorial
stood by, in death as in life—Lisalotte Hochs, Olga Branca of the Cini
Foundation, Lady Frances Clarke, Sir Ashley’s widow, and Joan Fitzgerald
(who had forgiven her trespasses). ‘‘The sun shone brightly as we
[went] down the Canal Grande and over to San Michele,’’ Mary remembered.
Olga was buried to the left of Ezra, taking her place by his side,
where she wanted to be.
In an obituary note, David Moody wrote of ‘‘her constancy towards
Pound through all his vicissitudes, her self-sustaining inner strength . . .
the independence of spirit to match his genius.’’
But the final word must be Olga’s: ‘‘I think of my dead. They are nicer
than the living. A great deal to be said for dying—a sifter, the dross falls
away. I am glad I believe in life everlasting, Amen—Caro!’’