The Pill Vs. The Springhill Mine Disaster

It should come as no surprise by now that I love Richard Brautigan. Almost to the point of being creepy.

Some of his work has made me very happy, some has made me not as happy. This collection of poems, The Pill Vs. The Springhill Mine Disaster makes me not as happy.

It is filled with goofy poems like this:

December 30

At 1:03 in the morning a fart

Smells like a marriage between

An avocado and a fish head.

I have to get our of bed

To write this down without

          My glasses on.

Or, the only poem I’ve read that is dedicated to fellatio:

I’ve Never Had It Done so Gently Before

                                          For M

The sweet juices of your mouth

Are like castles bathed in honey.

I’ve never had it done so gently before.

You have put a circle of castles

Around my penis and you swirl them

Like sunlight on the wings of birds.

Yep. Those are the ones that I read and I’m like… where is my Brautigan? Where is the lyrical Brautigan with his specific way of writing that makes me want to hug his work? I didn’t get that from any of the poems that were like the aforementioned.

But, there were some that had that Brautigan-ness to them that made me smile and take a second to think about what I had just read.

Love Poem

   It’s so nice

To wake up in the morning

   All alone

And not have to tell somebody

   You love them

When you don’t love them

    Any more.

Or

Your Catfish Friend

If I were to live my life

In catfish forms

In scaffolds of skin and whiskers

At the bottom of a pond

And you were to come by

    One evening

When the moon was shining

Down into my dark home

And stand there at the ends

    Of my affection

And think, “It’s beautiful

Here by this pond.   I wish

    Somebody loved me,”

I’d love you and be your catfish

Friend and drive such lonely

Thoughts from your mind

And suddenly you would be

    At peace,

And ask yourself, “I wonder

If there are any catfish

In this pond?   It seems like

A perfect place for them.”

Do you see the difference? I mean, its pretty obvious. These last two examples have that strange sadness and absurdity that draw me to Brautigan in the first place. I guess I just don’t know what he was trying to do writing about blow jobs and farts...

On to reading!