I was at Treasure Aisles and picked up a lonely little red cloth book—mostly because I liked the color and size. I looked at the spine. “POEMS – PATCHEN”. I couldn’t believe it. I opened it, and sure enough, it was The Selected Poems of Kenneth Patchen from 1946. It is a gorgeous thing, typeset just beautifully. I literally got goose bumps. And just $6. I still can’t get over it.
This lovely discovery was followed by one of the best pizzas I’ve ever had. The crust was pure perfection and the pepperoni was of the dime-sized variety, tiny and plentiful. Lindsey and I walked to Pizza-A-Go-Go and ate inside, instead of bringing it home. Who knew that would make such a difference? Plain old pepperoni pizza and an evening walk.
Ah…today was good.
Two Patchen Poems
"And When Freedom Is Achieved..."
You have used a word
Which means nothing.
You have given a word
The power to send men to death.
Men are not free who are sent to die.
Only those who send them are 'free.'
You should have freedom stuffed down your fat throats.
'O My Darling Troubles Heaven with her Loveliness'
O my darling troubles heaven
With her loveliness
She is made of such cloth
That the angels cry to see her
Little gods dwell where she moves
And their hands open golden boxes
For me to lie in
She is built of lilies and candy doves
And the youngest star wakens in her hair
She calls me with the music of silver bells
And at night we step into other worlds
Like birds flying through the red and yellow air
Of childhood
O she touches me with the tips of wonder
And the angels cuddle like sleepy kittens
At our side
damn! i'm jealous!
ReplyDeleteToday I read a reference to the Patchen poem (Ferlinghetti's memorial tribute to him) that mentioned this line, so I went looking for the whole thing, because it reminded me of something else that I had read today, by Wallace Stevens:
ReplyDeleteThe good Lord in His garden sought
New leaf and shadowy tinct,
And they were all His thought.
He heard her low accord
Half prayer and half ditty,
And he felt a subtle quiver,
That was not heavenly love
Or pity.
from his Cy Est Pourtraicte, Madame Ste Ursule, ed Les Unze Mille Vierges
thanks for posting the whole Patchen.