by Richard Brautigan, who walked those same Big Sur trails. That original vision, in all of its naive purity. Dancing down the hallways of time, from CE 1967.
This poem is so interesting because even as a pretty deep Brautigan reader its hard for me to interpret. And people quote it to demonstrate all sorts of things -- that its sentiment is naive, or prophetic, or cynical, or utopian. (Read In Watermelon Sugar for more of these ambiguities.)
Considered as Utopian vision, it's just another iteration of the Big Rock Candy Mountain. That ultra-naive idealist Marxist fantasia that imagines that computers run themselves, and the only thing required for a prospering natural environment is some innately decreed harmony that frees humans from their stewardship, their responsibilities, their work. If only it was that simple.
Just the same. I like to go running late at night through a tree-shaded neighborhood nearby where some of the wildlife has moved back in, and I meet deer, and they don't get spooked by me, and I can practically walk right up to them. A few feet away, there's a house with the glow of a computer screen through the window, and the deer have just walked across the street from a park meadow and they're walking onto the road under the street lamps, browsing grass by the sidewalk in the early morning silence. There they are. There I am. Here we both are.
In those moments, the poem is real to me. It isn't Utopia, but it ain't bad. I feel fortunate to fave found myself in that balance of wild and domestic for those moments. And also grateful to have that poem to wonder about.
The other Richard Brautigan poem that sticks in my head, "Rommel Drives Deep Into Egypt"
Rommel is dead.
His army has joined the quicksand legions
of history where the battle is always
a metal echo saluting a rusty shadow.
His tanks are gone.
How's your ass?
"Glad you asked, Mr. Brautigan. You know that fork in the road-- to either follow the route taken by the followers of Ozymandias you spoke of, or the path you told me about that led to the deer park? The deer park path, I took that one."
Always hard to know how to interpret that Brautigan...He was an ironic, wry, and sometimes dark writer, but also funny and light sometimes. That's my favorite thing about this poem: it appears all over the place, but to say different things. Sometimes it seems naive, sometimes insightful, sometimes utopian, sometimes cynical.
It isn't over yet. Stop being negative. There's no payoff to it.
There's a crucial difference between "impossible" and "difficult." For that matter, I notice waay too many people confusing "impossible" with "not effortless."
what a delight to experience the creative and sonorous tapestry of your writing. It is a gift for this pagan buddhist, who searches (in Pacific Grove) for words to give you thanx. To discover thru your words, there are those who experience the beingness of plants, their presence, resonance and unspoken vibe… gratitude arises. In the woods, forest and yes, even my backyard garden, the magick of touch, done with childish innocence, opens the heart, dissolves the scar tissue wrought by life’s struggles, renews the spirit and momentarily heals the worry about current conditions. Your writing is the equivalent of plant medicine. May you live long and well.
I remember well the pair of condors we saw at Esalen during your dream workshop. Years ago. Their dialog with a redwood not rigid enough to support them was amusing.
A very evocative and therapeutic article, many thanks. I was reminded of my reaction years ago to reading “The Way of Wyrd” by Brian Bates in which he attempts to recreate the lived experience of Anglo-Saxon animism. It certainly made me perceive the English countryside and ‘wild places’ in a different way.
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.
by Richard Brautigan, who walked those same Big Sur trails. That original vision, in all of its naive purity. Dancing down the hallways of time, from CE 1967.
This poem is so interesting because even as a pretty deep Brautigan reader its hard for me to interpret. And people quote it to demonstrate all sorts of things -- that its sentiment is naive, or prophetic, or cynical, or utopian. (Read In Watermelon Sugar for more of these ambiguities.)
You've got me thinking.
Considered as Utopian vision, it's just another iteration of the Big Rock Candy Mountain. That ultra-naive idealist Marxist fantasia that imagines that computers run themselves, and the only thing required for a prospering natural environment is some innately decreed harmony that frees humans from their stewardship, their responsibilities, their work. If only it was that simple.
Just the same. I like to go running late at night through a tree-shaded neighborhood nearby where some of the wildlife has moved back in, and I meet deer, and they don't get spooked by me, and I can practically walk right up to them. A few feet away, there's a house with the glow of a computer screen through the window, and the deer have just walked across the street from a park meadow and they're walking onto the road under the street lamps, browsing grass by the sidewalk in the early morning silence. There they are. There I am. Here we both are.
In those moments, the poem is real to me. It isn't Utopia, but it ain't bad. I feel fortunate to fave found myself in that balance of wild and domestic for those moments. And also grateful to have that poem to wonder about.
The other Richard Brautigan poem that sticks in my head, "Rommel Drives Deep Into Egypt"
Rommel is dead.
His army has joined the quicksand legions
of history where the battle is always
a metal echo saluting a rusty shadow.
His tanks are gone.
How's your ass?
"Glad you asked, Mr. Brautigan. You know that fork in the road-- to either follow the route taken by the followers of Ozymandias you spoke of, or the path you told me about that led to the deer park? The deer park path, I took that one."
Always hard to know how to interpret that Brautigan...He was an ironic, wry, and sometimes dark writer, but also funny and light sometimes. That's my favorite thing about this poem: it appears all over the place, but to say different things. Sometimes it seems naive, sometimes insightful, sometimes utopian, sometimes cynical.
Sadly, that vision didn't really work out very much
It isn't over yet. Stop being negative. There's no payoff to it.
There's a crucial difference between "impossible" and "difficult." For that matter, I notice waay too many people confusing "impossible" with "not effortless."
Just in general: beware of premature certainty.
what a delight to experience the creative and sonorous tapestry of your writing. It is a gift for this pagan buddhist, who searches (in Pacific Grove) for words to give you thanx. To discover thru your words, there are those who experience the beingness of plants, their presence, resonance and unspoken vibe… gratitude arises. In the woods, forest and yes, even my backyard garden, the magick of touch, done with childish innocence, opens the heart, dissolves the scar tissue wrought by life’s struggles, renews the spirit and momentarily heals the worry about current conditions. Your writing is the equivalent of plant medicine. May you live long and well.
🙏💕🌎
ib
(see IB Reflections on substack. Forever free)
I remember well the pair of condors we saw at Esalen during your dream workshop. Years ago. Their dialog with a redwood not rigid enough to support them was amusing.
I am on the Umpqua river this week and tonight, boondocking at high enough elevation that I caught a bar of cellular so could read this! Lambent.
Tea of beings - beautiful.
A very evocative and therapeutic article, many thanks. I was reminded of my reaction years ago to reading “The Way of Wyrd” by Brian Bates in which he attempts to recreate the lived experience of Anglo-Saxon animism. It certainly made me perceive the English countryside and ‘wild places’ in a different way.
A beautiful essay. Thank you so much!