#BrokenSpineReads – Precision Without Pretension: A Formalist Review of Mountains that See in the Dark by Regine Ebner & A Reckoning with Imagism’s Legacy

I find Imagism problematic. Not because I don’t appreciate sharp, precise poetry, but because its legacy—beginning with Ezra Pound, a fascist propagandist—is difficult to ignore. More than that, contemporary Imagism, in my experience, tends to be inaccessible, insular, and, to be blunt, up its own arse. And I am both an experienced reader of literature more broadly, and contemporary poetry. Where the great Imagists wielded precision to clarify, too much modern Imagist poetry, in my humble opinion, leans toward deliberate obscurity, mistaking difficulty for depth. Poetry should be for people, not an exclusive club of those who know how to decipher it.

I find it almost impossible to separate Imagism’s origins from Pound’s deeply troubling politics. Pound didn’t just flirt with fascism; he embraced it wholeheartedly. Between 1941 and 1943, he made pro-fascist radio broadcasts from Italy, parroting Mussolini’s propaganda and openly condemning the Allies. He praised Mein Kampf, promoted The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and referred to ‘Jew slime’, weaving anti-Semitic conspiracy theories into his public rants. Even after Mussolini’s downfall, he remained loyal to the Nazi-backed Salò Republic. His influence extended beyond the war—while institutionalised at St. Elizabeths, he mentored figures like Eustace Mullins and John Kasper, both of whom became key players in the American far right, pushing white supremacist and anti-Semitic ideology. Today, the Italian neofascist group CasaPound—named after him—still openly venerates his ideas.

Pound’s defenders have long attempted to downplay this, dismissing his actions as the ravings of an unwell man. But that excuse doesn’t hold up—his political beliefs weren’t a passing fever. They were deliberate, long-held, and actively propagated. And while Pound’s contributions to modernism are undeniable, his ideological baggage makes Imagism’s reputation as a movement harder to stomach.

That said, we all have our own tastes. I lean toward the Beats and Confessionals—messy, raw, sometimes indulgent, but always tethered to the everyday. And I know that those movements, too, have their own bad actors. Bukowski, for instance, was an awful man, but at least his poetry was accessible. Writers like him wrestled poetry back from the grip of people like F.R. Leavis, who gatekept literature behind an academic wall.

So when I was asked to review Mountains that See in the Dark (Black Bough Poetry), I jumped at the chance, but I also knew I had to be honest. Reviews should be honest. I wouldn’t be authentic otherwise. My own book, Twenty Seven, a gift to Jim Morrison on what would have been His 80th birthday, interrogated Morrison—it wasn’t some wank-fest about how great he was. Likewise, I won’t pretend to love Imagism just because I’m reviewing a book that aligns with it.

But here’s the thing: some poets cut through the nonsense. Some poets remind me that precision doesn’t have to mean detachment, that Imagist technique can serve poetry rather than suffocate it. The best poetry—whether from the Beats, the Confessionals, or the Imagists—connects rather than isolates. Regine Ebner is one of those poets.

A Poetry of Compression: How Ebner Uses Line Breaks and Form

Traditional Imagist poetry is often defined by its brevity, but brevity alone isn’t enough. A poem must earn its compression. One of the strongest aspects of Ebner’s work is her control of lineation—the way she cuts lines to emphasise rhythm, pacing, and meaning.

Take Steep Terrain:

‘From the deep of the hills,
coyotes cry out with their violins,
death leaves behind its hollow bones,
and darkness circles like fell horses
gaining ground.‘

Notice the final break: gaining ground. She leaves this phrase as its own line, allowing the darkness to build in momentum. Had the line ended with ‘fell horses’, the impact would be different—less urgent, less inevitable. This is where Ebner excels: using the Imagist tradition of precision while maintaining a sense of movement.

Compare this to Ghosts Above the Fire, which operates on a different kind of rhythm:

‘Breaking through a crackling turn of sun,
pieces tear from skies like ash
and lift the danse-macabre
above the fire.‘

There’s a tension between stillness and motion here. ‘Breaking through’ is an active phrase, but ‘a crackling turn of sun’ is more static. It suggests watching, not doing. Then, with ‘pieces tear from skies like ash’, we get an abrupt movement again, reinforcing the image of disintegration. The poem sways between stability and collapse, creating a flickering, flame-like rhythm that mirrors the fire at its center.

Soundscapes: The Role of Euphony and Dissonance

One thing that sets Ebner apart from lesser Imagists is her attention to sound. Too often, contemporary Imagism focuses on the visual at the expense of the aural, but Ebner’s poems listen to themselves.

Take A Late Night in Neon:

‘There’s a flat fringe of neon
on the mercury moon,
lighting up an open range
of yesterdays.‘

Say that aloud. Flat fringe of neon. The double ‘f’ sounds create a hushed, breathy quality, like a neon sign flickering in the night. Then we get mercury moon—a phrase that feels liquid, slipping between syllables. These are the kinds of sonic choices that make a poem felt rather than just read.

Contrast this with Hurricanes, where Ebner uses repetition and softer consonants to create a hypnotic effect:

‘There is no hurricane,
only one lavender cloud
ranging over a lavender plain,
leaving behind its broad shadow
of interlude
and hope.‘

The repetition of ‘lavender’ slows the rhythm down, reinforcing the stillness of the scene. And ending with hope rather than a more concrete image allows the poem to linger, leaving the reader in a kind of pause. This is careful, intentional music.

The Weight of the Image: When Less is More

Imagism, at its best, functions through compression. Ebner knows exactly how much to give a reader and how much to withhold.

In Missions and Split-Rail Fences, she writes:

‘The old mesquite chapel,
just down the road,
fades into the masks of history.

The candles have all burnt down to the tin,
buried under leaves and voices.’

This is a perfect example of how an image can carry emotional weight without being over-explained. The candles have all burnt down to the tin—that’s all we need to understand time, abandonment, and loss. There’s no need to tell us what happened to the chapel. The image itself does the work.

Similarly, in Cut Paper:

‘Years float to the ground
like cut paper,
in the firelight of henna gold.‘

The metaphor is light, delicate. The line doesn’t declare meaning; it suggests it. And yet, it’s deeply evocative.

Final Thoughts

I don’t typically have patience for Imagist poetry. Too often, it hides behind obscurity, offering little in return. And its lineage—one that traces back to Pound’s fascist sympathies—makes its elitist tendencies even harder to stomach.

But Mountains that See in the Dark earns its place. This is poetry that understands the weight of language, that values clarity without sacrificing depth. Ebner’s work doesn’t merely ask to be admired; it invites the reader in. That, in itself, sets it apart.

For those who appreciate contemporary poetry that merges stark realism with dreamlike lyricism, this collection delivers. Even if, like me, you’re often sceptical of Imagism’s appeal.