Richard Brautigan proposed writing at least one poem for everyone. I suppose that might have been somewhat ambitious. And, frankly, not everyone appreciates poetry.
I am more modest in my
thinking. My plan is to feed any birds that
find my front yard. Each day, I
broadcast seeds across the ground for the mourning doves and jays. I fill my birdfeeder with chipped sunflower
seeds. Crossbills and house finches use
the feeder. Chickadees take seeds from
my hands.
I am mostly satisfied with my
work on feeding the birds.
In 1982, I spent a few
afternoons and evenings drinking beer with Brautigan in Bozeman, Montana. We talked about writing—poetry included. Wallace Stevens wrote a poem entitled Poetry
Is a Destructive Force. The last
line of the poem is this: “It can kill a
man.”
Stevens proved correct. Richard Brautigan commuted suicide in
1984. He was, at the time, 49 years old
and a writer published in some 30 languages.
Poetry kills.
Feeding the birds is
impractical, but is does not kill. And even
though I am harmless, the birds scatter if I get too close. I think of Brautigan as they do.
—Mitchell Hegman
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