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Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster

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"The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster," by Richard Brautigan, is a collection of poems. Brautigan's style is often surreal, often tender, with touches of witty humor. The poems are written in a clear, straightforward free verse. Here is an example of his style (from "The Chinese Checker Players"): "When I was six years old / I played Chinese checkers / with a woman / who was ninety-three years old."

Recurrent themes in the book include love, sex, loss, and loneliness. Incorporated throughout are an intriguing mix of pop and "high" culture references: Jefferson Airplane, Ophelia, the New York Yankees, John Donne, etc. The book often has an earthy flavor; Brautigan writes about such topics as his own penis or the smell of a fart. Some particularly memorable poems include the following:

"All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace," a science fiction vision of a "cybernetic meadow"; the open-ended "Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4"; "Discovery," a joyful poem about sexual intimacy; the surreal "The Pumpkin Tide"; the funny, haiku-like "November 3"; and "A Good-Talking Candle," which invites the reader into an altered state of perception.

Although most of the poems are very short, there is one longer poem: the 9-part, 9-page "the Galilee Hitch-hiker," which chronicles the surreal adventures of Baudelaire (among other experiences, he opens an unconventional hamburger stand in San Francisco). If you only know Brautigan from his weird and wonderful novels, I recommend you read this remarkable collection of poems.

No, this is not The Waste Land, but I've noticed that people who don't even like poems can't help but like this collection, even if they only like the ones with penises in them. Really, Brautigan's poetry is some of the only poetry that doesn't lie to itself, acknowledging both the author's and the medium's weak points, yet still conveying honest insight through endearing prose, with images that fall apart the second you touch them, leaving you with a feeling of naustalgia; this, I think, is the appeal of Brautigan, and while he might not be a master on the terms of Ezra Pound, he is great on his own terms, and for those that don't know (or care) who the hell Ezra Pound is.

At a time when the complexities of existence shape even our entertainment, our art, and our literature, it is refreshing to return to the world of Richard Brautigan, (1935 - 1984) a welfare child who reflected on his humble beginnings throughout the 1960s as the people's poet. His novels and his poems deal in beautiful simplicities, spare statements that express the ordinary daily events of life, capturing these moments with words so clear that they leave no opportunity for disagreement. His droll humor is at once amusing, tender, and touching.

This collection of 98 of his poems ranges from very brief `micropoems' to longer extended works. His short poems are simply blinks of a creative eye scanning the world:

In a Café

I watched a man in a cafe fold a slice of bread

as if he were folding a birth certificate or looking

at the photograph of a dead lover.

Man

With his hat on

he's about five inches taller

than a taxicab.

But for many of us who fell in love with his language and observations of the obvious the following poem is one of his very finest;

My Nose Is Growing Old

Yup.

A long lazy September look

in the mirror

say it's true.

I'm 31

and my nose is growing

old.

It starts about 1/2

an inch

below the bridge

and strolls geriatrically

down

for another inch or so:

stopping.

Fortunately, the rest

of the nose is comparatively

young.

I wonder if girls

will want me with an

old nose.

I can hear them now

the heartless bitches!

"He's cute

but his nose

is old."

This is little book is a treasure trove of memories of a simpler time, the work of a man who was the people's voice and whose life ended in the solitude of suicide. Highly recommended. Grady Harp, February 10