Poem of the Day: Kenneth Patchen

A New Series Highlighting Interesting Poetry

The year started out with me having taken a break from poetry, both reading and writing it. For months my eyes belonged almost solely to Henry Miller, as I finally found time to get through The Rosy Crucifixion trilogy as well as the other, lesser know works like Big Sur and The Air-Conditioned Nightmare and The Colossus of Maroussi.

Miller, always open about his influences, is never shy about dropping in references to fellow authors of his day. As his own work and thinking about the world have greatly influenced me, it’s without question I make time to take a peek at some of these influencers upon him.

Among many authors to which Miller has pointed me, I’ve recently devoured both Franz Werfel (Star of the Unborn; fiction) and Kenneth Patchen (Collected Poems). Both of them tremendous thinkers, writers and ‘feelers,’ their work fairly pulsating with passion, horror, joy and bewilderment at the complexities of modern, 20th century Western existence, I find much to admire in the material by them I’ve thus far seen.

Today, however, I came across a particularly trenchant and perspicacious Patchen piece in the collection which pinned me to the wall. Made me chortle and gasp. Gave me solace and hope that I was not alone in having such thoughts about what it is to be human here in this reality.

I showed the poem to Jenn; she agreed and made a ‘mind-blown’ gesture there in the kitchen at her parents house as we bustled to assemble the Thanksgiving meal for a group of twelve (yes, I still managed to slink into a corner for five minutes reading poetry during this time). Enough poetry for now, I thought. Enough for the rest of the day, maybe the week.

Ah, Kenny. We would have had a lot to talk about. I initiate conversations with random folks which remind me of this poem; what would be the answer to the answer, man? Nice to see these ideas showing up in a poem by a writer for whom I hold a page-by-page growing admiration, as did Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Enjoy.

You Must Have Some Idea Where They’ve Gone

Kenneth Patchen 

Somber figures that wander off into the night

Leaving all the questions unanswered

Leaving everything as it was

Billions and billions have come and gone

But why? Have you wondered why they lived?

Have you ever wondered about that?

Strange! How strange it all is!

The wind—

A tiny ripple on the water—

But the strangest thing of all

Is that man doesn’t not look like other things!

Man resembles nothing else on earth

Man does not seem at home here

All the questions may have their answer in this