Let us have madness openly.
O men Of my generation.
Let us follow
The footsteps of this slaughtered age:
See it trail across Time's dim land
Into the closed house of eternity
With the noise that dying has,
With the face that dead things wear—
nor ever say
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door, an utter deed of love,
Transforming day's evil darkness;
but We found extended hell and fog Upon the earth,
and within the head
A rotting bog of lean huge graves.
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Another great work. Many years ago, when my poetry was still mostly inside me and unable to find words, a student teacher compared my work to Kenneth Patchen. I feel honored and somewhat embarrassed by the comparison - embarrassed because my poetry has never reached the complexity of Patchen's. The imagery, concrete and tangible, is amazing to me. I can only hope to one day achieve something that is a shadow of his free verse.
Scott
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