Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Kenneth Patchen’s "Latesummer Blues" is a sprawling, feverish lament on the state of humanity, interweaving pastoral imagery, absurdist humor, and apocalyptic despair. Written in a jazz-like freeform style, the poem plays with tone and rhythm, moving fluidly from moments of natural beauty to grotesque caricatures of human folly and violence. Patchen’s voice is by turns wistful, mocking, and anguished, painting a vision of a world where meaning dissolves, violence is casual, and the winds of time sweep away both the noble and the debased.

The poem begins with a deceptively tranquil image: “Well, the grass is a pleasant thing, / Blue of the sky against its green— / And the peaceful wind and water singing / Most likely of an ancient queen / Who sleeps in another kingdom now.” The pastoral setting is almost idyllic, evoking a timeless peace, but the mention of the "ancient queen" introduces a note of melancholy. The past is distant, its wonders forgotten, and the tone suggests a longing for something irretrievably lost. Patchen deepens this sentiment with the line: "Who seem to have turned from all wonders now." This signals the poem’s central tension: the contrast between the beauty of the world and the corruption, violence, and absurdity of human existence.

This contrast is reinforced by the surreal, darkly comic insertion of characters like "Gizzle Robby" and "Shammy Pistonrod and Kubber-Bubber Ned." These whimsical, invented names suggest a kind of grotesque vaudeville, a carnival of absurdity. Patchen often uses such cartoonish figures to mock human pretensions and the small, meaningless distractions that fill people’s lives. The absurdity escalates with the mention of "Lem the-Human-Toiletseat," who gorges himself on “two buckets of eels, six oyster pies, and a couple / sides of beef.” This carnival of grotesques reflects both the absurdity and excess of modern life, where indulgence and foolishness coexist with deeper suffering.

As the poem progresses, it becomes clear that these diversions are meaningless in the face of larger, existential questions: “What have you found that the world may use? / Blackened grime on an idiot's shoes.” Here, the critique sharpens—humanity's accomplishments are reduced to filth, its ambitions worthless. Patchen asks, “But where is the trust in man's high aim?” only to answer with brutal cynicism: “Darkness waits at the heart of the fame.” The ambition, progress, and supposed greatness of humankind are revealed as hollow, waiting to be consumed by the darkness that inevitably follows.

This sense of moral and existential decay is crystallized in the grim fate of Irma Shannon: "A pink tea-rose gown all squished into a bloody wad ... / Now that's what Irma Shannon got to wear before her God." The genteel, feminine imagery of the "tea-rose gown" is grotesquely juxtaposed with its violent, bloody end, implying a murder or assault. This moment is central to the poem’s overarching vision: no matter one's social position, aspirations, or personal history, the forces of destruction remain indiscriminate. Patchen reinforces this idea with the refrain: “I know, I know, / Some of us stay, while some of us go...” a fatalistic acknowledgment of life's randomness and brutality.

Patchen then turns his eye toward Susan Hooker, a woman whose beauty and confidence once captivated those around her. "She’ll have the angels off that pin! / I’ll bet she made St. Peter gawk." This wry humor quickly turns to tragedy as she is “hit / By a lad who was lit / On goofer-dancing snow.” The casual, almost playful phrasing of her death underscores the senselessness of violence—she is taken not by fate, nor by divine will, but by the reckless actions of someone intoxicated. Her story is emblematic of a world where beauty and hope are arbitrarily snuffed out.

The poem continues its descent into chaos with a satirical reflection on human technological progress: “Who’ve got a patent out for an indestructible man / That’s made in the image of a Lorkadorcus squid.” This absurd image mocks the notion of scientific advancement and progress, suggesting that no invention, no matter how ambitious, can save humanity from its own self-destructive tendencies. The final, sarcastic outburst—“How come the lives of people are wasted like so much manure!”—strips away any pretense of optimism, laying bare Patchen’s disgust at human suffering and waste.

The last stanza takes a more solemn, lyrical turn. In this final shift, Patchen explicitly states that divine order has been displaced; it is no longer “up to God” but to men. Yet, rather than rising to the occasion, humanity has proven itself incapable of creating a better world. The “monstrous fire” fueled by “monstrous hatred” suggests war and destruction, culminating in the bleak image of “some bloody rags beneath a tree”—possibly a reference to a lynching or execution, an image of profound human cruelty. The final line, "This tattered rot at the end of a rope," leaves no room for redemption; human hope has not merely failed but has decayed into something rotten and irredeemable.

Structurally, the poem’s fragmented, shifting style mirrors its chaotic vision. The shifts in tone—from wistful to absurd to mournful—reflect the speaker’s struggle to process the contradictions of life. Patchen’s use of invented names, grotesque characters, and dark humor adds to the poem’s satirical edge, exposing the absurdity of human pretense in the face of inevitable decay and violence.

Ultimately, "Latesummer Blues" is a bitter, jazz-like elegy for a world that has lost its way. Through a fusion of surrealism, satire, and stark realism, Patchen paints a portrait of a society in which beauty and hope are fleeting, violence is casual, and progress is an illusion. The poem leaves the reader with no easy answers—only the howling wind, the falling leaves, and the cold certainty that summer, with all its warmth and renewal, may never come again.

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