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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=432188" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Elegy on the Death of Kenneth Patchen</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A poet is born<br>A poet dies<br>And all that lies between<br>is us<br>and the world</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the world lies about it<br>making as if it had got his message<br>even though it is poetry<br>but most of the world wishing<br>it could just forget about him<br>and his awful strange prophecies</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Along with all the other strange things<br>he said about the world<br>which were all too true<br>and which made them fear him<br>more than they loved him<br>though he spoke much of love</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along with all the alarms he sounded<br>which turned out to be false<br>if only for the moment<br>all of which made them fear his tongue<br>more than they loved him<br>Though he spoke much of love<br>and never lived by ‘silence exile & cunning’ <br>and was a loud conscientious objector to<br>the deaths we daily give each other<br>though we speak much of love</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And when such a one dies<br>even the agents of Death should take note <br>and shake the shit from their wings<br>in Air Force One<br>But they do not<br>And the shit still flies<br>And the poet now is disconnected<br>and won’t call back<br>though he spoke much of love</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still we hear him say<br>‘Do I not deal with angels<br>when her lips I touch’<br>And still we hear him say<br>‘0 my darling troubles heaven<br>with her loveliness’<br>And still we hear him say<br>‘As we are so wonderfully done with each other <br>We can walk into our separate ‘sleep<br>On floors of music where the milkwhite cloak <br>of childhood lies’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still we hear him saying<br>‘Therefore the constant powers do not lessen <br>Nor is the property of the spirit scattered <br>on the cold hills of these events’<br>And still we hear him asking<br>‘Do the dead know what time it is?’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He is gone under<br>He is scattered<br>undersea<br>and knows what time<br>but won’t be back to tell it<br>He would be too proud to call back anyway<br>And too full of strange laughter<br>to speak to us anymore anyway</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the weight of human experience<br>lies upon the world<br>like the chains of the ‘sea<br>in which he sings<br>And he swings in the tides of the sea<br>And his ashes are washed<br>in the ides of the sea<br>And ‘an astonished eye looks out of the air’<br>to see the poet singing there</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And dusk falls down a coast somewhere</div><div style="margin:10px 0">where a white horse without a rider<br>turns its head<br>to the sea</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lawrence+Ferlinghetti">Lawrence Ferlinghetti</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=432188" data-title="An Elegy on the Death of Kenneth Patchen de Lawrence Ferlinghetti" data-description="A poet is born
A poet dies
And all that lies between
is us
and the world

And the world lies about it
making as if it had got his message
even though it is poetry
but most of the world wishing
it could just forget about him
and his awful strange p..."></div>
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