Ричард Гари Бротиган / Richard Gary Brautigan

Ричард Гари Бротиган

(30 януари 1935 – 14 септември 1984 г.)

живи са
да станат ли на хартия?

американски новелист и поет свързван с бийт поколението.


  • Винаги съм искал да напиша книга, която да завършва с думата „майонеза“.

    I always wanted to write a book that ended with the word mayonnaise. 

  • Чудя се дали това, което публикуваме сега, си заслужава изсичането на дървета за хартията, на която го печатаме.

    I wonder what we are publishing now is worth cutting down trees to make paper for the stuff. 

  • Аз съм в непрекъснат процес на мислене за нещата. Аз мисля за нещата по тридесет или четиридесет години, преди да ги напиша.

    I’m in a constant process of thinking about things. I’ll think about things for thirty or forty years before I’ll write it.

  • Странно е колко прости неща стават в живота, докато ние ставаме все по-сложни.

    It’s strange how the simple things in life go on while we become more difficult.

  • Вероятно най-близките до съвършенство неща са огромните абсолютно празни дупки, които астрономите откриха наскоро във Вселената. Ако там няма нищо, как би могло да бъде погрешно?

    Probably the closest things to perfection are the huge absolutely empty holes that astronomers have recently discovered in space. If there’s nothing there, how can anything go wrong?

  • Всички ние имаме място в историята. Моето са облаците.
All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.

Richard Gary Brautigan

(January 30, 1935 – ca. September 14, 1984) was an American novelist, poet, and short story writer. His work often employs black comedy, parody, and satire.


“Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.”
“I have always wanted to write a book that ended with the word ‘mayonnaise.”
“all of us have a place in history. mine is clouds.”
“Karma Repair Kit Items 1-4.

1.Get enough food to eat, and eat it.

2.Find a place to sleep where it is quiet, and sleep there.

3.Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you arrive at the silence of yourself, and listen to it.

4.“Finding is losing something else. I think about, perhaps even mourn, what I lost to find this”

“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.”
“Money is sad shit”
“Im haunted a little this evening by feelings that have no vocabulary and events that should be explained in dimensions of lint rather than words.

Ive been examining half-scraps of my childhood. They are pieces of distant life that have no form or meaning. They are things that just happened like lint.”

“In Watermelon Sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar.”
“I will be very careful the next time I fall in love, she told herself. Also, she had made a promise to herself that she intended on keeping. She was never going to go out with another writer: no matter how charming, sensitive, inventive or fun they could be. They weren’t worth it in the long run. They were emotionally too expensive and the upkeep was complicated. They were like having a vacuum cleaner around the house that broke all the time and only Einstein could fix it.
She wanted her next lover to be a broom. ”
“I’m in a constant process of thinking about things. ”
“I’ll tell you about it because I am here and you are distant.”
“My God, ma’am, you’re so pretty I’d walk ten miles barefooted on a freezing morning to stand in your shit.”
“I saw thousands of pumpkins last night
come floating in on the tide,
bumping up against the rocks and
rolling up on the beaches;
it must be Halloween in the sea”

“Excuse me, I said. I thought you were a trout stream. I’m not, she said.”