A funny thing happened on the way to Wallace Stevens' later poetry

[TranquillityBase]

A buddhist starts dressing a certain way, using a certain jargon, begins hanging around a certain kind of people, the same old psychodramas and reactive behaviors unfold under the, well, blindfold of a step in the right direction.

I got out my favoirte book about Budhhism, and Zen, The Empty Mirror by Janwilliam van de Wetering.It didn't teach me much about Zen, but it taught me (revealed to me) a lot about Zen practice. 

To have nothing to say, for imagination and dreams to fade to silence and solace, that is success. No one wants that.

I dunno, I think silence is perhaps something to have available.  
 
Kenneth Patchen's poems are really bad. This time of year, his books are angelscripts. He's a selfish angry person, his sentimentality is his excuse for violence which he hates and obsesses him. His poetry is of the tone of poem to poem, not one poem. The rage and the b&w mawkish sentimentality on clouds in skies the color of blood before it's left the veins. But a black ink fog mystifies everything. So there's no going back. What's said is said and you take it as it is with a judgment that is fit for this poetry only. A world fully right in itself, like a netflix show.

My first mentor once read aloud to me "Something there is about the rain" which I liked a lot but, although I own a Patchen, that's as far as Ive read him.