Kent Taylor
Kent Taylor started writing poetry his freshman year at Ohio Wesleyan University. After quitting medical school at Ohio State University, he returned to Cleveland, and became a charter member of the underground poetry scene that erupted there during the 1960s. His first six books were published by d. a. levy. Taylor moved to San Francisco in 1970. Publications include 14 books and hundreds of appearances in such anthologies and periodicals as The Quarterly, Rattapallax, Abraxas, Ragged Lion, Onthebus, Invisible City, Vagabond Anthology, Painted Bride Quarterly, Free Lance, and Rain City Review.
Bio
http://www.lkwdpl.org/lfiles/taylor
Bibliography
http://www.verdantpress.com/taylor.html
Poets & Writers page
http://www.pw.org/content/kent_taylor_1
Poems:
remains to be seen
we disappear
from the ground
up
cut off
by the curvature
of the earth
empty nooses
pass for
halos
as a coin
flipped
at sunset
catches
the last ray
of light
~kent taylor
returning to Cleveland with an olive branch
tonight
in this city
that fostered
then betrayed
my illusions
trains wail
like a Greek chorus
parting my memory
with echoes
as if change
might be the greatest
illusion of all
now that these
runaway years
have stripped the morning sun
of promises
broken by night
Cleveland and I
are brothers
whose battered armor
only decorate scars
enough light remains
to keep us
from falling
but we can no longer see
what we’re missing
~kent taylor
words
i always dreamed of
some flashing light
shadowed
on dark water
a flame in my head
if not in the sky
always chasing words
that knotted something inside
something felt days after
the untying
words along evening river banks
lonely with grass
words imagined during blackout forgotten
drunk
later remembered
like abandoned things
words locked in a girl’s eyes
accidentally catching mine
words anxiously unspoken
because i didn’t know there were
no words
the day brings its newness
like water
and i leave the words
and they silently
wait
8-13-67
the looks of water in a
child’s eye
something about the
rising of waves
the bending of the curl
unbelievable
or the evening sun expanding
red behind empty land
the back of a distant
person
wondering about their
looks
how they think
why do they do things that seem
impossible for
me
the water along a beach
a child
sand through his hair
dangling seaweed
listening
i feel like seven days
curtains of light in
my head
this warm autumn day
poundings like spring rumble across
the night
sirens wail like science fiction
sitting in apartment thinking
of earlier places
of earlier friends
of late friends
of time ending in us
of cities forcing loneliness
/warm air through the window
the way a thumb bends around
a pen almost like love
almost winter now
the warm wind is a late song
the furniture dark and silent
the book falls breaks
coming rain doesn’t wait for openings
the night turns
and i feel like seven days
that slowly crossed themselves
off a calendar
and
fell
for k.
i never knew how
the knot inside
finally went away
or how to play the game
of touch
i never understood
it had to end
so after was always
impossible
leaving friends after a party
the loneliness the hunger the
void
collapsing everything somewhere
beneath the chest
today i still haven’t
learned the rules
hung up on a girl who lets
me hold her
nothing to be done
the day drifts by
the girl who touches
who feels so warm
now moves through other habits
my insides twist and grab
the haunting vision of everyone’s
personal sadness as their driving
force
returns as it did
along the banks of the Olentangy
during lost college years
i never knew
i still don’t
10-30-68
twisting roads leading
to the past
the kiss of rain through
a purple mist
salt spray rising
over the railing
the red days of autumn
pile up
like leaves
and burn
i almost wanted
her
so quickly gone
past my eyes
past memory
now walking some secret street
that i imagine dark and cool
her coat blowing
her eyes and I can’t even dream
her thoughts
i’ll never know |
