Collected Poems of Kenneth Patchen

Kenneth Patchen is a one of a kind poet. He wrote two or three poems worth all the musty little university poetry journals put together. His sincerity is brutally sweet when he's sweet, and brutally cruel when he's angry. Every word shivers with ethical and political commitment but without sentimentality and cheap moralism. He makes Ginsberg's howls look like squeaks, and the university poets look like conmen. He makes Bukowski seem flower-scented. He's unlike anything else. That he's forgotten proves that the contemporary world of poetry is a sham and a crime.

Kenneth Patchen is by far my favorite poet. This is a brave statement coming from a reader/literature buff who prefers poems that are far more traditional in form and meter. While I respect and admire all creative forms of poetry (I myself shamelessly admit to being a lousy poet, which is probably why I read more of the stuff than I write), I have always had a higher interest in poets who follow rhyme-schemes because I always figured that this type of poem was more difficult to write. To follow a certain pattern and meter throughout a poem, and yet to still successfully make your statement and evoke emotion is a powerful example of creativity and ingenuity. Give me Yeats and Donne over blank-verse any day.Having said that, I must confess that Patchen was a poet who always wrote to the beat of his own drum. He rarely used traditional form or meter, yet in steering away from traditional schemes, he managed to create his own rhyme and forms in brilliant wordplay that have since been copied by never replicated. Plus, the raw, honest emotion (often rage) and powerful, offbeat images that Patchen constantly creates only get better with each read. It is difficult for me to describe the man's work except for the title I have given this review. Do not expect traditional poetry in any shape of the imagination. But do expect beauty and honesty in all the themes that Patchen explores, whether he is describing life for all of its beauty, darkness, or sadness.In other reviews I have written for this site, I have felt the need to expand into lengthy prose in order to promote to work I was writing about. I do not feel the need to do that here, as Patchen is better known than the previous writers and artists who I have reviewed (indeed, if you are reading this, it probably means that you're a fan of Patchen's anyway). Having said that, it is a pity that he is not included in more anthologies and that he is not studied more in English classes. There is something here for everyone, and the questions and comments that he evokes about life and society are not to be missed.I shall conclude with one of my favorite poems by Patchen, to demonstrate the raw emotion and themes that he creates with his unusual form and dynamic images. Thankfully, this volume includes this particular poem and others like it with similar haunting beauty."If We Are To Know Where We Live""I came to the house. It was dark.It was hell standing there.No one answered my knock.WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN MY HOUSEI tapped on the window. I banged on the door.They pulled the shades. They threw the heavy bolt.But I knew that they wantedAnd I saw what I was not to seeAnd I heard what I was not to hear.They wanted to murder the thing within the house.I saw my own face with the knives about it.I heard my own screams as they tortured me.And I was everyone. We all stood there."Hopefully, this poem has proven any point that I've tried to make. If you love poetry or are just beginning to dive into the world of lite

Kenneth Patchen, 1911-1972, was born in Ohio, fought in WWII, and spent the rest of his life invalided by spinal disease. His was a powerful, angry voice that could sing some of the most beautiful love poems of the past century. His art was violent and primitive; usually he incorporated poetry into his painting. His strongest influence was William Blake, e.e. cummings was a mentor. He moved easily among the San Francisco poets, a contemporary of Lawrence Ferlinghetti of the famed City Lights Book Store. He was truly a poet's poet and never compromised his art. I don't know if was influential; he certainly didn't care. His public, his peers sought him; never the other way around. I read once that he wrote "naked poetry." The following poem is an excellent example of his wondrous way with words, the beauty, the anger and the savagery all in a few short stanzas.The dove walks with sticky feet Upon the green crowns of the almond tree, Its feathers smeared over with warmth Like honey That drips lazily down into the shadow... Anyone standing in that orchard, So filled with peace and sleep, Would hardly have noticed the hill Nearby With its three strange wooden arms Lifted above a throng of motionless people ---Above the helmets of Pilate's soldiers Flashing like silver teeth in the sun.

I am not surprised that Albion Moonlight has so many wonderful comments, but this, the Collected Poems has none. Speechlessness made by endlessness.Patchen gave us so much, that we nothing to say.