Kenneth Patchen and the Early 1950s


Dark reaches of Albion Moonlight in all our brains. Gaunt shadows of futurity
disguised as ghosts of the second world war. C'mon man, you playing or not &
what/inning is it? Small, heartening triumphs of See You in the Morning, read in
Village bookstore evening, escaping the maudlin by presence, heavy hope held
out, cupped in some thick hand. The love lyrics, singing like Miles Davis, clear &
simple across the web of our vague & obscure lovings. Clear flashlight beams that
kept us from bumping into things in our dark. (There is a word in the vedas that
means both 'beam of light' & 'clear night' & that is relevant here.) The tender
silliness of Memoires of a Shy Pornographer. Voice of sanity which was Sleepers
, read & reread. 'When we were there (still) together' as we are not any-
where, now. Clear voice of hope & wrath, loved traveller-gone-before, who gave us
courage, & does.

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