Kenneth Koch(27 February 1925 - 6 July 2002 / Ohio / United States)
- by Kenneth Koch36
There is no way not to be excited When what you have been disillusioned by raises its head From its arms and seems to want to talk to you again. You forget home and family And set off on foot or in your automobile And go to where you believe this form of reality May dwell. Not finding it there, you refuse Any further contact Until you are back again trying to forget The only thing that moved you (it seems) and gave what you forever will have But in the form of a disillusion. Yet often, looking toward the horizon There—inimical to you?—is that something you have never found And that, without those who came before you, you could never have imagined. How could you have thought there was one person who could make you Happy and that happiness was not the uneven Phenomenon you have known it to be? Why do you keep believing in this Reality so dependent on the time allowed it That it has less to do with your exile from the age you are Than from everything else life promised that you could do?
- by Kenneth Koch35
Nothing's moving I don't see anybody And I know that it's not a trick There really is nothing moving there And there aren't any people. It is the very utmost top Where, as is not unusual, There is snow, lying like the hair on a white-haired person's head Combed sideways and backward and forward to cover as much of the top As possible, for the snow is thinning, it's September Although a few months from now there will be a new crop Probably, though this no one KNOWS (so neither do we) But every other year it has happened by November Except for one year that's known about, nineteen twenty-three When the top was more and more uncovered until December fifteenth When finally it snowed and snowed I love seeing this mountain like a mouse Attached to the tail of another mouse, and to another and to another In total mountain silence There is no way to get up there, and no means to stay. It is uninhabitable. No roads and no possibility Of roads. You don't have a history Do you, mountain top? This doesn't make you either a mystery Or a dull person and you're certainly not a truck stop. No industry can exploit you No developer can divide you into estates or lots No dazzling disquieting woman can tie your heart in knots. I could never lead my life on one of those spots You leave uncovered up there. No way to be there But I'm moved.
Poems by Kenneth Koch, Kenneth Koch's poems collection. Kenneth Koch is a classical and famous poet (27 February 1925 - 6 July 2002 / Ohio / United States). Share all poems of Kenneth Koch.