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The Disappearing Poet: What ever happened to Weldon Kees? / The New Yorker (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
Right Here: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2005/07/04/the-disappearing-poet

Crime Club by Weldon Kees


No butler, no second maid, no blood upon the stair.

No eccentric aunt, no gardener, no family friend

Smiling among the bric-a-brac and murder.

Only a suburban house with the front door open

And a dog barking at a squirrel, and the cars

Passing. The corpse quite dead. The wife in Florida.


Consider the clues: the potato masher in a vase,

The torn photograph of a Wesleyan basketball team,

Scattered with check stubs in the hall;

The unsent fan letter to Shirley Temple,

The Hoover button on the lapel of the deceased,

The note: "To be killed this way is quite all right with me."


Small wonder that the case remains unsolved,

Or that the sleuth, Le Roux, is now incurably insane,

And sits alone in a white room in a white gown,

Screaming that all the world is mad, that clues

Lead nowhere, or to walls so high their tops cannot be seen;

Screaming all day of war, screaming that nothing can be solved.