Ken Zimmerman
Non-Fiction
The Night Timothy Leary Threw Himself Into My Arms
There was that one night when Timothy Leary threw himself into my arms— literally— and over and over again, too. It was spring term, 1988, and I was working hard on writing the poems to finish up my MFA thesis. But Kesey’s novel class was in the revision stage, and...
read moreFor Ken, Who Saved My Life
For Ken, Who Saved My Life In the fall of 1977 I moved to New York City, having dropped out of college to become a hippie poet along with my buddies Tony and Bill. We were going to start a new magazine of American surrealism, which we already called New Honolulu...
read moreUnacknowledged: Some thoughts on National Poetry Day
Percy Shelley, in his essay “A Defense of Poetry” claims somewhat wildly that “poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” I’ve always loved this exuberant statement, though I recognize its obvious absurdity. Poets, in their hovels and cafes, hiding in...
read moreWalking Away: Some words for Ursula K. LeGuin
Ursula LeGuin died today. Though I’ve seen her read her works and speak several times, I met her only once, in 1988. For a few years back then, the What’s Happenin’ weekly paper, now the Eugene Weekly, sponsored a writing contest for poetry and fiction, which was...
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Retrocausality
In conclusion, I might say that this funky and often tedious memoir work I’ve been busy with for who knows how long now— dredging through boxes of old journals mildewed and nearly illegible, photographs cracked and worn, blurred words and broken trinkets and solitary...
read moreDon’t Worry About It
One night, during my first year in San Francisco, summer of ‘79, my friend Bob leaned over to me, handed me a doob and said, “Brother Kenny, do you need a job?” The thought hadn’t really crossed my mind, but sure, why not? Back then I’d try almost anything. Next...
read moreWinning the Lottery
It’s nearly impossible for me to remember jokes. I guess I’m not the only one with that syndrome. But there’s one joke that sticks with me. It goes something like this: Dude is broke, his wife is sick, kids hungry, etc. Every night he kneels at the foot of the bed and prays, “God, won’t you let me win
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