Kenneth Patchen: Всі вірші поета

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The Deer And The Snake

The deer is humble, lovely as God made her

I watch her eyes and think of wonder owned

These strange priests enter the cathedral of woods

And seven Marys clean their hands to woo her

Foot lifted, dagger-sharp—her ears

Poised to their points like a leaf's head

But the snake strikes, in a velvet arc

Of murderous speed—assassin beautiful

Kenneth Patchen

The Cloth Of The Tempest

These of living emanate a formidable light,

Which is equal to death, and when used

Gives increase eternally.

What fortifies in separate thought

Is not drawn by wind or by man defiled.

So whispers the parable of doubleness.

As it is necessary not to submit

To power which weakens the hidden forms;

Kenneth Patchen

Eve Of St Agony Or The Middleclass Was Sitting On Its Fat

Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets

of quick lice crawling inland, planting their damn flags,

putting their malethings in any hole that will stand still,

yapping bloody murder while they slice off each other’s heads,

spewing themselves around, priesting, whoring, lording

it over little guys, messing their pants, writing gush-notes

to their grandmas, wanting somebody to do something pronto,

wanting the good thing right now and the bad stuff for the other boy.

Kenneth Patchen

The Rites Of Darkness

The sleds of the children

Move down the right slope.

To the left, hazed in the tumbling air,

A thousand lights smudge

Within the branches of the old forest,

Like colored moons in a well of milk.

The sleds of the children

Make no sound on the hard-packed snow.

Kenneth Patchen

My Generation Reading The Newspapers

We must be slow and delicate; return

the policeman's stare with some esteem,

remember this is not a shadow play

of doves and geese but this is now

the time to write it down, record the words—

I mean we should have left some pride

of youth and not forget the destiny of men

who say goodbye to the wives and homes

Kenneth Patchen

The Murder Of Two Men By A Young Kid Wearing Lemon-colored Gloves

Wait.

Wait. Wait.

Wait.

W a i t.

Wait.

Kenneth Patchen

In Order To

Apply for the position (I've forgotten now for what) I had

to marry the Second Mayor's daughter by twelve noon. The

order arrived three minutes of.

I already had a wife; the Second Mayor was childless: but I

did it.

Next they told me to shave off my father's beard. All right.

No matter that he'd been a eunuch, and had succumbed in

early childhood: I did it, I shaved him.

Kenneth Patchen

The Snow Is Deep On The Ground

The snow is deep on the ground.

Always the light falls

Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.

This is a good world.

The war has failed.

God shall not forget us.

Who made the snow waits where love is.

Only a few go mad.

Kenneth Patchen

Be Music, Night

Be music, night,

That her sleep may go

Where angels have their pale tall choirs

Be a hand, sea,

That her dreams may watch

Thy guidesman touching the green flesh of the world

Be a voice, sky,

That her beauties may be counted

Kenneth Patchen

When We Were Here Together

when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one

another.

Abit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the

wind.

What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of

hair turning to ash on the wind.

But they lied about that. From the beginning they lied. To the child,

telling him that there was somewhere anger against him, and a

Kenneth Patchen

Pastoral

The Dove walks with sticky feet

Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,

Its feathers smeared over with warmth

Like honey

That dips lazily down into the shadow…

Anyone standing in that orchard.So filled with peace and sleep,

Would hardly have noticed the hill

Nearby

Kenneth Patchen

The Slums

That should be obvious

Of course it won't

Any fool knows that.

Even in the winter.

Consider for a moment.

What?

Consider what!

They never have.

Kenneth Patchen