'There are the Alps,' Basil Bunting is supposed to have scribbled on his copy of the Cantos. 'What is there to say about them?' Mainly this, in the brief poem that follows:
They don't make sense. fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb,
jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree…
It takes some getting used to. there are the Alps,
fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble!
[T.J. Clark Reservations of the Marvellous, The Arcades Project 1999]
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