From Requiem

When the last living thing

has died on account of us,

how poetical it would be

if Earth could say,

in a voice floating up

perhaps

from the floor

of the Grand Canyon,

“It is done.”

People did not like it here.


Kurt Vonnegut, Novelist Who Caught the Imagination of His Age, Is Dead at 84

Published: April 12, 2007

Kurt Vonnegut, whose dark comic talent and urgent moral vision in novels like “Slaughterhouse-Five,” “Cat’s Cradle” and “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” caught the temper of his times and the imagination of a generation, died last night in Manhattan. He was 84

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/12/books/12vonnegut.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th (might need log in)

Wasn't sure what to do with this, so thought this was a good place ... hope all are well. Jo

the passing of a great one.

(and a hug for you, Jo!)

So it goes.

'Sometimes the pool-pah', Bokonon tells us, 'exceeds the power
of humans to comment.'

In the mid sixties I met Kurt Vonnegut at a bar in a Holiday Inn in Birmingham, Alabama. We talked science fiction. I was a bit of a know-it-all back then so understandably he left after a couple of drinks. Later I read his books. In retrospect I wish I had been more subdued. Oh well...so it goes.

Sorry, Jo. Didn't mean to mantle ya with another thread. Didn't see this Vonnegut tribute before. Thanks for posting this. And good to see you around.

Well, Whitman, you could continue Vonnegut's life by telling us about what he said that changed your way of thinking.

You tell me yours...and I'll tell you mine.

Sure, milum...lessee....

'Round 'bout the time I came to Vonnegut's writings at the age of 19, 20 or so I had descended into a staunch nihilism...nothing mattered...total meaninglessness. When I read Slaughterhouse 5 his dark, quirky touch of humor had a way of loosening that up for me...his brand of cynicism actually had a way of infusing a positive gleam into my cynicism. Lots of his images made me pause for a good chuckle, if not more. And I remember that one of his famous quotes from "Slaughterhouse," in context, "Why are we born only to suffer and die?", made me laugh out. And his wonderful absurdities, like suicide by drinking Drano in Breakfast of Champions still brings a bizarre smile to my face...even as I'm writing this. In short, treating the pessimism with humor helped to open the door to get past such a frightening vision of "reality" for me, if that makes any sense?

And I still think The Sirens of Titan is one of his most underrated books, and belongs up there with his classics.

No worries - m'dear - your header was a little less cryptic than mine - I guess most people would call him a novelist, I think, for me, his language and approach was more significant than the stories that he told, which is why I described him as a poet.

I think that it mattered to me that someone like him existed, that he could say the unsayable and still raise a smile. I have a sense of his voice as a backdrop to the 20th century - a counterpoint to the those who are relentlesly cheerful - someone who helped give a voice to the doom and gloom in a way that made it feel like someone else was depressed at the state of the world.

I dunno Jo, I don't think that today we need a counterpoint to those who are relentlessly cheerful. Back then..maybeso.

And maybe that is why I couldn't finish reading the books he wrote in the eighties, but moreso I think that his Art, by then, had become Craft; after all, how many times can you say the same thing, the same way, differently?

Still, his was a fresh voice that many of us heard in the sixties and seventies and reading Vonnegut was like reading no one else who wrote.

Poet? No. Writers of prose can never be poets. Artist? Yes, in as much as writers can be considered artists, maybe like John Dos Passos, or Hemingway, in that they too left the summation to the reader.

Not that I need an excuse to drink, but I will feel better tonight when I sit down an empty glass in Kurt Vonnegut's honor.

Wow! I must admire Kurt Vonnegut Jr. more than I thought.

I sat down an empty bottle in his honor. Wow!

In vino veritas.

About two years after Breakfast of Champions there appeared on the bookstore shelves a tome entitled Venus on the Halfshell by one Kilgore Trout, the name of the writer/protagonist in Breakfast of Champions. It was very Vonnegutian, written in his style, with his humor, et al. Though he never fessed up to it I always contended it was Vonnegut's most delicious lark. In fact, I'm not sure he really denied it either. I'm hoping that maybe there's some posthumous decree that will admit to his authorship on this. But maybe not...maybe he just wanted to leave it alone. Anybody know anything more about this very enticing situation? Venus was a fun and intriguing read, BTW.

Venus was a fun and intriguing read, BTW.

When I bought the paperback way back in Bicentennial America, I, too, thought it was written by Vonnegut, and, it wasn't until a few years later that I found out (from a friend) that it was actually written by another of my favorite science fiction authors, Philip José Farmer. Just recently I bought the two issues of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in which it was first published. I loved the lurid artwork on the cover.

Sometimes, Faldage, but not often. I do my best lying when I'm drunk.

But I'm glad you made your amusing point because therein lies the literary pivot that kept Vonnegut out of the company of literary giants. Namely, that the actions of people are the results of a complex of multiple urges and not just a from a single structured concept.

My post about setting down an empty bottle was made because...

(1) After reflection I felt that I had understated my admiration for Vonnegut.
(2) I wanted to keep his memorial thread going in hopes that others would post their thoughts about Vonnegut.
(3) I wanted to amuse and abet those who think I drink (I do, but not nearly enough).

But Kurt, God Bless Him, built his plots around simple minded people who were about as complex as a brick.

No matter, he made me laugh and his outre outlook framed many of my own outre thoughts.

Philip José Farmer Ooh, Hubby and I both loved him! I'll have to try and find Venus on the Halfshell.

Some of the most profound truths are told with lies and some of the best lying is done by telling the truth.

...and does eat oats and goats eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, a kid'll eat ivy too wouldn't you?.

That's "mares eat oats and does eat oats ...", Milo. Don't you know nothin' you liddle lamsy divey?

But what does all that have to do with a wooden shoe?

a wooden shoe

Sabotage?

Pardon me while I LMAO. Y'all're a hoot!

.

The poet shapes in blood and ink
what mortals fear to feel and think,
wherefore, while toasting him they try
to mix the hemlock in his drink.

The poet's triumph dearly bought,
is when hes losing fight is fought,
and mortals read his script and cry:
That's just what we have felt and thought.

Piet Hein

Thanks for the Piet Hein, Zed. Very apt.
That Piet Hein guy was a marvel.

Here's a site that gives a thorough and intriguing overview of the story. Seems even some top critics argued Venus was written by Vonnegut when it first came out.

http://www.vonnegutweb.com/vonnegutia/trout/index.html