Kenneth Patchen

Kenneth Patchen (1911-1972) is America's Rebel Poet, as my biography on him declares. He was a maverick who had a great respect for form and for humanity, which he shares so generously in his work. He and wife Miriam are one of the great love stories in American literature...lovers and rebels seeking a new order for humankind, they sought to witness the tragedy of America and yet keep a vision of wholeness and wonder. Any young poet who misses Patchen, misses a model he will have to discover on his/her own.

I'm amazed to find myself the first to offer a comment about Kenneth Patchen. I've read him over and again since 1967, so it's time then. To make it short. Without him, there wouldn't have been a beat generation or any beat poetry or fiction - the way it all came along. Patchen inspired them all. I first came across his name in a small collection of literary essays by Henry Miller, but I first got a chance to read him when offered some books by a fugative representative of the Black Panters a year before the European student revolts in 1968. I'm till this day intrigued by a novel called The Journal of Albion Moonlight, first published in 1950, I belive. Unfortunately I think its message is more valid now than ever. The way I read it, it's about a fascist US. And his poems? Just start reading, laughing and crying. If somebody wonders about my age and gender, I'm close to 60 and male.

Hello everybody, I came across Kenneth Patchen only recently, through a poem of his read by Johnny Dowd on an album by Jackie Leven: The Skaters (the album title is 'Oh what a Blow that Phantom Dealt me') . I was intrigued and deeply moved by the poem itself and by the way it was performed and set to music. Unfortunately I don't understand all of it (I'm German) , so I'd be very happy if someone could post it here. It's in the book 'Still Another Pelican in the Breadbasket', which doesn't seem to be available here. Thanks a lot. Christine

Aarrrgghhh! I had hoped to find Patchen's poem which had sledding in it- -no, not the light it's fun in the snow kind of poem but about human darkness. Tragedy, I think. Heck, I was only 13 or so when I found my then dead uncle's book of Patchen poems. And, Chad, I'm soooo sorry but I gave it away last year, nearly 50 years later. Lovely little book it was, too. I was having a life clear-out and wasn't thinking straight. I wasn't aware of Patchen's importance to my life and times- -the resistance to the Vietnam War and to stupid cultural values and mores. I thank him from this side of the big divide and wish him well, wherever he's translating reality now. Back to reading his poems. Oh, hello everyone!

Hello Ola, I was very touched by your comment. I have the same feeling about Kenneth Patchen, even if I dont know all his work. I'm from Belgium and had only the opportunity to read what I can still find on the web. Maybe you could help me. I'm looking for all the poems of kenneth Patchen. I love his writing. As you. Deeply. I hate so many poems... and I seem to like nearly everything Patchen's done. I had two wonderful poems of him that I lost. One is about a lynching in the South of USA. I think it's called 'Good day for a Lynching'. The other is about loosers, loneliness and whores I've lost the nameof it.. But anyway... anything from/on from Kenneth Patchen interests me, please let me know. I'm ready to buy old book of him. As well as Tenesse Williams old stuff. If you can help. Just mail me at: chadpalomino@gmail.com or reach me through here. MANY thanks For all

They point their noses At the Negro jerking in the tight noose; His feet spread crow-like above these Honorable men who laugh as he chokes. I don’t know this black man. I don’t know these white men. But I know that one of my hands Is black, and one white. I know that One part of me is being strangled, While another part horribly laughs. Until it changes, I shall be forever killing; and be killed.

Nice Day for a Lynching The bloodhounds look like sad old judges In a strange court.

Where is the line The truth is what they don't say from?

What a wonderful observation about the deer we get love and emotion on nature

Please help - years ago I read Patchen and there was one prose poem with no puncuation about The terrible white tiger that floats in the air and And oh my love I have nowhere at all to take thee that was heartbreaking and beautiful. Does anyone know the title of the book it was in?