Hard to reconcile Ezra Pound the poet, with such a beautiful sense for the rhythms and melodies of the English language, and so sensitive to his time and place in the literary tradition, with the man who broadcast propaganda for the Italians during the Second World War, whose preference was for the Fascists because of their sense of style. Mishima also comes to mind, with impeccable aesthetics, totalitarian politics.
In any case if the politico-poetic schism doesn't bother you, this slim collection is a wonderful introduction to this important Modernist. His Cantos were overreaching and sprawling -- some of the poems here have the glint of lyric perfection. I am especially fond of the Cathay poems, and of those Exile's Letter is my favorite. His translation is crystalline, the words flow like water, of all his poems, translations or otherwise, I feel this is among the most perfect -- not for greatness of idea or emotion, but for its subtlety and lyricism.
He reaches such moments in parts of the Pisan Cantos ("What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross"), but it's a bit funny that he had T.S. Eliot whittle down The Waste Land, but he himself didn't have the discipline to pare down his own work. This might be why his translations (The Seafarer, The River Merchant's Wife) seem to be more anthologized, and considered the more accessible portion of his work -- the limits of these poems were already in place, holding his ambition in check, thus allowing him to concentrate on the language, which he really did so well.