Another Name Added To Our Time Wanderers.
Kenneth Lee Irby
Born, Bowie, Texas November 18th 1936 : Died, Lawrence, Kansas July 30th 2015
A sad 4 a.m. drinking coffee, to get word from Steve Dickison of the death of Ken Irby, a poet whose presence seemed fixed. Whenever he lit in my memory the same two dominoes would flip, before else other. It’s late ’71 or early ’72, winter light and snow. Ted Greenwald, David Ball (and at one point Aram Saroyan) and I are driving with Harvey Brown from NYC to Franconia, NH to read. Bob Grenier is teaching up there. The story of that epic trip can only be properly told by Ted; but Ken was teaching at Tufts and he generously put us all up overnight. Going through his record collection he played us only Tibetan music and chants. That was my first meeting (other than by correspondence) with Ken. In an armchair with much Olson to hand. Drones, gongs, snow. Which tilts the second domino. Kent, Ohio, a little later in the 70s. We’re staying with the Dorns in their rented house. Ken comes by. Hilarity, drink, drugs. A fierce storm dumps feet of loose snow. For a forgotten reason I drive off towards the turnpike, heading back towards Bowling Green: and skid into a snowdrift. No cellphones in those days, but some hypersense after a couple of frozen hours brings Ken and Ed in a pick-up. I see this almost lion-head in silhouette as snow and ice are scraped from the windshield. Then more random memories flame up. I last saw Ken in Lawrence, where he’d returned to look after his mother, more than a decade ago. And I always thought he’d be there if I ever went back. I suppose he will.
