birds are not real, but birdfeeders are
so are the squirrels that raid them
angels are real
so are the bless’d anvils where angels are beaten into existence
with imaginary hammers
carnations and dahlias and oleanders, not real
sugarcane is real, cocaine is unreal
horse lemons, real
flag wax, real
frisbee golf, real, but illegal in all fifty-seven states
yesterday i re-read revenge of the lawn
by richard brautigan, this time with my eyes open
watching out for stray lawn darts
richard brautigan is real
but bird’s nest soup is not
i have an uncle named jay bird, yeah, that’s his real name
he lives in florida
which isn’t real, unless you’re a snowbird and enjoy shuffleboard
and don’t mind all the whackadoos
politicians are real
and taste like chicken
two fish swimming in a fishbowl, neither will speak to the other
they swim in angry circles
one fish starts to think, and think
and think
then swims up to the other and says: oh yeah, well, if god isn’t real
who changes the water?
birds are not real, but flying fish are
roosters, not real
flamingos, not real
pink plastic flamingo lawn ornaments, real
today i am re-re-reading revenge of the lawn
but this time much slower, looking for clues
i know d.b. cooper is hiding in there, and bigfoot
canada is real, but only in picture books
the cellphone superglued to the palm of your hand is real
but your facebook friends are not
and guess what- neither are you
hidden messages emitted from fluorescent lights are real, but i’m unclear
on the science of tinfoil hats, will they save me from electromagnetic madness
or just cook my potato-shaped head even faster?
my distress is real
(and i don’t want to live in a world with no birds and an evil cabal of imaginary
squirrels selling birdseed on every street corner and artificial flamingos playing
frisbee golf with my naked-as-a-jay-bird uncle in a town with no carnations where
the kool-aid flows like streaming reality shows and mr potatohead is the mayor)
tomorrow i will re-re-re-read revenge of the lawn
this time backwards
in the bathtub, with the lights turned off
birds are not real
but their shadows are
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
jalopy dreams 
Politicians taste like chicken! That made me laugh out loud. I also love the fish’s question and the final several lines. “Revenge of the Lawn” sits on my book shelf but I don’t think I’ve read that one. It’s hard to say, because in my prime Brautigan-reading days, things were a little fuzzy and not always clearly recalled now. With two teacher friends, I spent part of the summer of 1978 traveling around, with Jackson Brown on the cassette deck (!) in the car and various Brautigan tomes scattered around the back seat. A Confederate General From Big Sur may have been one of them. Trout Fishing In America definitely was. In any event, the changing method of reading Revenge in this poem, and the various real and not real items make a grocery list of props and doo dads that somehow make a cohesive piece. I am not sure how you do that, but it’s trippy and weird and satisfying . I often think to myself “This can’t be real”, but it usually is, especially if it’s payable or resembles an inoperable melanoma. That’s when I escape into poetry or Youtube videos, depending on my mood. So glad you wrote for this.
LikeLiked by 2 people
thank you, coal. yes i’ve been on a brautigan kick lately, can’t get enough, and i started this for your brautigan word list, but didn’t get very far with it. i never did read a confederate general in big sur and it’s in my library, still need to get that one. revenge of the lawn has few of the “lost” chapters that were suppose to be in trout fishing in america, a very good read. right now, i’m trying to re-read the well wrought urn. if you’re not familiar, its basically a dissertation on traditional structures in poetry, and it’s boring me to death. i need to find something new to read, but nothing is grabbing my attention. yes, poetry and youtube, those are my escape hatches too, but for me youtube music, i could explore and listen to weird and cool music all day long. thanks again coal, and thanks for the lists, i really enjoy them
LikeLiked by 2 people
That is SO F’ING GOOD!!! Damn man. I’d have to quote the whole thing. Where have you been?
LikeLiked by 1 person
OK, I answered that by catching up on your posts Hope the fishing was great.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks qbit, and yes, the fishing was great, catch 5 different species, brookies, rainbows, lake, brown and pike. i had a lot of fun and can’t wait to get back up there. so glad you enjoyed this
LikeLiked by 1 person
My fly rods have been gathering dust since we moved from New England to NYC. Yes, I have seen people fly fishing in Central Park, but… y’know?
LikeLiked by 2 people
fishing central park, that sounds kind of awful. i’ve never been to nyc so i know nothing about it, but it sounds like you’d be standing shoulder to shoulder with everyone. that would drive me crazy, solitude is half the goal, and i’m an introvert, that wouldn’t work for me. if you ever make it out to colorado, i can get you into some great fly fishing water, or even wyoming… we can shake all that dust off your gear
LikeLiked by 2 people
Oh man. That would be so good.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s kind of amazing how you’ve managed to put a lot of Brautigan in this without in any way using his own style, just yours, which as always coruscates with so many facets the poem needs shades to be read properly. The line between real and unreal, that is poet’s country, and your divisions here mark a world that is disintegrating, that lacks any kind of integrity, but has the blinding, blinded clarity of black and white anyway, like an Ayn Rand book on acid. Not that you have any of those dregs in here, other than maybe Florida. The lines about the two fish in particular made me catch my breath, and the poem reads like saltwater and peach nectar, and all I can say is, I’m glad there is a mirror like this to look at the world and find its absurdity as well as its reality. Good to have you back.
LikeLiked by 4 people
thank you joy, glad you enjoyed this. i have to admit, i get kind of tired of writing poems like this. so very heavy-handed, but society just keeps handing me more and more material to use. when i read the story about the group that believes all the birds in the usa are really robot birds the government used to spy on us, i couldn’t help myself, i had to rip it apart and have some fun. thanks again joy
LikeLiked by 2 people
Wow. Well, this is special, Phillip! I love the dream-like almost hallucinatory visuals of it going from one frame of comparison to another, and you made me laugh out loud with this:
‘”hidden messages emitted from fluorescent lights are real, but i’m unclear
on the science of tinfoil hats, will they save me from electromagnetic madness
or just cook my potato-shaped head even faster?” 😀
and the ending I found almost endearing, candid in a child-like way, as if, wait, I’m not done talking, there’s still this and this….
“in the bathtub, with the lights turned off
birds are not real
but their shadows are .”
LikeLiked by 1 person