Kenneth Rand

Kenneth Rand Poems

Kenneth Rand Biography

Kenneth Rand (1891–1918) was an American poet. An English literature graduate of Yale University, he served as chairman of the board of the Yale Literary Magazine, served as literary editor of the Yale Courant, contributed to campus humor magazine The Yale Record and was the class poet. He was one of the poets to whom The Yale Book of Student Verse, 1910–1919 was dedicated. Rand was born in Minneapolis, Minnesota on May 8, 1891, the son of Alonzo Turner Rand (1854–1925), president of the Minneapolis Gas Company, and Louise Casey Rand (1861–1891). Much of his early life was spent in travel, especially in Europe. He attended Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, for three years, where he was a member of the Mandolin Club and wrote for a student publication, The Mirror. He was not overly popular there, but was thought to be unusually introspective. After graduating from Phillips Academy in 1910 he attended Yale University, where he majored in English literature. Author George Henry Nettleton (1874–1959) called Rand's class poem, written as a senior, an unconscious prophesy. The years have dropped behind us, The years run out before, The testing world shall find us Full weight—we trust—and more. After graduating from Yale in 1914, Rand gave his attention chiefly to writing. He published three volumes of poetry (listed below), and his poems were published in literary and fiction journals of the time, including The Bellman, The Argosy, Lippincott’s, Snappy Stories, Sport Story Magazine, Picture-Play Weekly, Top-Notch, and The Smart Set.)

The Best Poem Of Kenneth Rand

To All Ye Motherless

O children who have never known the clasp
Of those dear arms that fend away the world,
Surely the kindly gods will know the why
Of a fair portion of our restless sins!
Surely the kindly gods will pardon us,
Poor foster-children of the careless Earth
Whose brood is all too great for tenderness!
We may find loves and friends in womankind,
White arms that cling and cool white hands that soothe,
But we can never know the first and best.
Perchance we may but find her in our dreams,
Perchance we may not even find her there,
Perchance our memories may not limn her face-
Yet shall we sense a lack when most we need,
In hopeless moments when the strongest knows
That he is but an infant in the dark.
Therefore I think the gods will pardon us
Of a fair portion of our restless sins,
Lone children who have never known the clasp
Of those dear arms that fend away the world.

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