Biography of Kenneth Rand
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.
Kenneth Rand Poems
Out from the gloom of the mountain-gorges, Dark in the glow of the dawn, See how they scurry like shadow-wrack, Each in his funeral-cloak of black,
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!
Out from the gloom of the mountain-gorges,
Dark in the glow of the dawn,
See how they scurry like shadow-wrack,
Each in his funeral-cloak of black,
Faint and fade and are gone.
Dancing away down the ribbed ravines,
Chattering ghouls astride the breeze-
Haste, O Beloved, thy weary feet,