Kenneth Rexroth, often hailed as the “Father of the Beats,” was a central figure in the countercultural movement of the mid-20th century. An accomplished poet, translator, and critical essayist, Rexroth is widely recognized for his influential role in the development of the Beat Generation, an artistic and literary movement that challenged conventional norms and pushed for social and cultural change.
Rexroth was born in South Bend, Indiana, on December 22, 1905 and led a life as vibrant and varied as his literature. He lived across the United States and Europe, working various jobs ranging from a hospital orderly to a radio announcer. His experiences influenced his writing, which often reflected his deep appreciation for nature, his disdain for industrialization, and his commitment to social justice.
Kenneth Rexroth’s work was expansive and diverse. He was a prolific writer, producing more than twenty volumes of poetry in addition to numerous essays, translations, and plays. His poetry ranged from the personal to the political, blending lyricism with social critique. His translations helped introduce American readers to foreign poets and his essays often challenged conventional wisdom.
Rexroth played a crucial role in shaping the Beat Generation. He mentored many of its key figures, including Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder. His weekly literary salons in San Francisco became a hub for the burgeoning movement, providing a space where young writers could gather to discuss ideas and share their work. In this way, Rexroth fostered a sense of community among the Beats and helped guide their creative output.
Doubled Mirrors
It is the dark of the moon.
Late at night, the end of summer,
The autumn constellations
Glow in the arid heaven.
The air smells of cattle, hay,
And dust. In the old orchard
The pears are ripe. The trees
Have sprouted from old rootstocks
And the fruit is inedible.
As I pass them I hear something
Rustling and grunting and turn
My light into the branches.
Two raccoons with acrid pear
Juice and saliva drooling
From their mouths stare back at me,
Their eyes deep sponges of light.
They know me and do not run
Away. Coming up the road
Through the black oak shadows, I
See ahead of me, glinting
Everywhere from the dusty
Gravel, tiny points of cold
Blue light, like the sparkle of
Iron snow. I suspect what it is,
And kneel to see. Under each
Pebble and oak leaf is a
Spider, her eyes shining at
Me with my reflected light
Across immeasurable distance.
-Kenneth Rexroth
Curated by Jennifer
