“My eyes are geared for the horizon,” Ezra Pound wrote in 1938 (Guide to Kulchur 55). It's a telling remark suggesting the breadth and vision of his work, whether in poetry or prose. He thought big, although he argued for concrete details. He promoted large ideas but worked in pieces: his long opus, The Cantos, spanning some fifty-two years of construction. And he always urged, cajoled and pushed – some would say dumped – his ideas on the public. But he never said “enough” or gave up even when challenged by editors, fellow writers, or governments. This introduction to his life and work presents the many facets of Pound, who possessed a kind of binocular vision, able to look out to the horizon at the same time that he saw what was immediately in front of him. He knew that “language is made out of concrete things” but that a universal view was necessary. In one sense his program was simple – “if a man write six good lines he is immortal – isn't that worth trying for?” – but in another it was complex as he sought to become “fra i maestri di color che sanno,” a phrase he expands as “master of those that cut apart, dissect and divide. Competent precursor of the card-index” (SL 49, 12; Guide to Kulchur 343).