Richard Brautigan, most famously the author of delightfully quirky fiction like "Trout Fishing in America" and "An Unfortunate Woman," was also a beloved, sort of beatnik, poet. He died in his Montana home of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head in October 1984. (His body was found an estimated three weeks after his suicide, an ubiquitous glass of whiskey at his side). Here are some of his poems.

 

 

"1942"

Piano tree, play

in the dark concert halls

of my uncle, twenty-six years old, dead

and homeward bound

on a ship from Sitka,

his coffin travels

like the fingers

of Beethoven

over a glass

of wine.


Piano tree, play

in the dark concert halls

of my uncle,

a legend of my childhood, dead,

they send him back

to Tacoma.

At night his coffin

travels like the birds

that fly beneath the sea,

never touching the sky.

 

Piano tree, play

in the dark concert halls

of my uncle,

take his heart

for a lover

and take his death

for a bed,

and send him homeward bound

on a ship from Sitka

to bury him

where I was born.

 

Travelling Toward Osaka on the
Freeway from Tokyo

I look out the car window

at 100 kilometers an hour

(62 miles)

and see a man peddling

a bicycle very carefully

down a narrow path between rice paddies.

He’s gone in a few seconds.

I have only his memory now.

He has been changed into

a 100 kilometer-an-hour

memory ink rubbing.

 

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

I like to think

(and the sooner the better!)

of a cybernetic meadow

where mammals and computers

live together in mutually

programming harmony

like pure water

touching clear sky.

 

I like to think

(right now, please!)

of a cybernetic forest

filled with pines and electronics

where deer stroll peacefully

past computers

as if they were flowers

with spinning blossoms.

 

I like to think

(it has to be!)

of a cybernetic ecology

where we are free of our labors

and joined back to nature,

returned to our mammal

brothers and sisters,

and all watched over

by machines of loving grace.

 

Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4

1. Get enough food to eat,

and eat it.

 

2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,

and sleep there.

 

3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise

until you arrive at the silence of yourself,

and listen to it.

 

4.

 

San Francisco

This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco. The author is unknown.

 

By accident, you put

Your money in my

Machine (#4)

By accident, I put

My money in another

Machine (#6)

On purpose, I put

Your clothes in the

Empty machine full

Of water and no

Clothes

 

It was lonely.

 

Xerox Candy Bar

Ah,

you're just a copy of all the candy bars

I've ever eaten.

 

Widow's Lament

It's not quite cold enough

to go borrow some firewood

from the neighbors.

 

The Fever Monument

I walked across the park to the fever monument.

It was in the center of a glass square  surrounded

by red flowers and fountains. The monument

was in the shape of a sea horse and the plaque read

We got hot and died.

 

I Feel Horrible. She Doesn't

I feel horrible. She doesn't

Love me and I wander around

The house like a sewing machine

That's just finished sewing

A turd to a garbage can lid.

 

Cannibal Carpenter

He wants to build you a house

out of your own bones, but

that's where you're living any way!

The next time he calls

you answer the telephone with the

sound of your grandmother being

born. It was a twenty-three-hour

labor in 1894. He hangs up.

 

The Sister Cities of Los Alamos, New Mexico, and Hiroshima, Japan

It was snowing hard when we drove

into Los Alamos. There was a clinical feeling

to the town as if every man, woman and child

were a doctor. We shopped at the Safeway

and got a bag of groceries. A toddler

looked like a brain surgeon. He carefully

watched us shop at the exact place where he

would make his first incision.

 

Jules Verne Zucchini

Men are walking on the moon today,

planting their footsteps as if they were

zucchini on a dead world

while over 3,000,000 people starve to death

every year on a living one.

 

Earth   July 20, 1969

 

All Girls Should Have a Poem

For Valerie

All girls should have a poem

written for them even if

we have to turn this God-damn world

upside down to do it.

 

Shellfish

Always spend a penny

as if you were spending a dollar

and always spend a dollar

as if you were spending

a wounded eagle and always

spend a wounded eagle as if

you were spending the very sky itself.

 

All Secrets of Past Tense Have Just Come My Way

All secrets of past tense have just come my way,

but I still don't know what I'm going to do next.

y Way All secrets of past tense have just come my way,

but I still don't know what I'm going to do next.