For Labor Day, a poem by American working-class hero poet, Kenneth Patchen.
Gautama in the Deer Park at Benares
In a hut of mud and fire
Sits this single man—“Not to want
Money, to want a life in the world,
To want no trinkets on my name”—
And he was rich; his life lives where
Death cannot go; his honor stares
At the sun.
The fawn sleeps. The little winds
Ruffle the earth's green hair. It is
Wonderful to live. My sword rusts
In the pleasant rain. I shall not think
Anymore. I touch the face of my friend;
He shows his dirty teeth as he scratches
At a flea—and we grin. It is warm
And the rice stirs usefully in our bellies.
The fawn raises its head—the sun floods
Its soft eye with the kingdoms of life—
I think we should all go to sleep now,
And not care anymore.
_____
Other links:
Mingus on Patchen, plus two poems, including "Let Us Have Madness"
at The Academy of American Poets site
A handful of love poems, including "For Miriam"
Three more poems, including "Pastoral"
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