I know I am growing old by Bob Branaman

I know I am growing old
When I wouldn’t go though the shit
You have to
To get some pussy

When I no longer
Give a fuck
What they think about me

When you think you are dying all the time
And keep putting off going to the doctor
You are still afraid of doctors, Hospitals
Snakes and spiders

You know you are growing old
When you don’t spend
All your time
Thinking about pussy
And trying to get it
Yeah then you know
The testosterone and other chemicals
Have dried up a bit
Your nurorecepters aren’t sending
Out the shit no more
Your sperms aren’t straining to
To swim up stream

I just go in my studio
And paint
I come up with
New (old) things to do
Yes
It makes me happy too

The Words and Art of Robert R. Branaman Issue

I came across Bob Branaman from a photo of him and Charles Plymell taken in the 1950s.  His name is also CCd on emails I get from time to time  from Charlie.  I quick google brought up the world of Bob Branaman that I had missed–that much of America missed also.  The ones that didn’t are the lucky ones.  When S.A. Griffin talked to me about him and when I learned that S.A. had promoted his art, I knew  it was time to meet him.  There is so much more to the man, the artist than appears here.
The Rusty Truck began as simply wanting to gather the family in one place, kinda like grandma did at least twice a year and publish the best poetry out there.  Now, the Truck wants to add to this–to chronicle a part of history.  Robert Branaman among others are part of that history.

The Words and Art of Robert R. Branaman Issue

I came across Bob Branaman from a photo of him and Charles Plymell taken in the 1950s.  His name is also CCd on emails I get from time to time  from Charlie.  I quick google brought up the world of Bob Branaman that I had missed–that much of America missed also.  The ones that didn’t are the lucky ones.  When S.A. Griffin talked to me about him and when I learned that S.A. had promoted his art, I knew  it was time to meet him.  There is so much more to the man, the artist than appears here.
The Rusty Truck began as simply wanting to gather the family in one place, kinda like grandma did at least twice a year and publish the best poetry out there.  Now, the Truck wants to add to this–to chronicle a part of history.  Robert Branaman among others are part of that history.

Charles Plymell on Bob Branaman

The first time I remember Bob’s drawings I was sitting in a club in the early to 50’s in Kansas. There was the typical live combo of sax, bass, drums and singer. Bob had some paper and a pen and began sketching. We were among a large post-war sub-culture that associated itself with drugs, whores, and jazz and cars. We saw a lot of each other and went to parties and clubs and enjoyed the Benzedrine and Boo and cartoon life the nights had to offer.

Charles Plymell on Bob Branaman

The first time I remember Bob’s drawings I was sitting in a club in the early to 50’s in Kansas. There was the typical live combo of sax, bass, drums and singer. Bob had some paper and a pen and began sketching. We were among a large post-war sub-culture that associated itself with drugs, whores, and jazz and cars. We saw a lot of each other and went to parties and clubs and enjoyed the Benzedrine and Boo and cartoon life the nights had to offer.

Robert Branaman Videos

For Bob’s 60s film Burn Karma Burn

Click here

Robert Branaman–The Art

Robert Branaman–The Poetry

Her last orgasm

I’m pretty sure
She faked it
Usually she conked right out
Now she wanted to talk and watch TV
O the apocalyptic signs were there
I just don’t want to see them
Denial, Denial it’s not a river
It’s an Ocean
She told me it was over
And
It was like a door opening out of hell
I didn’t want to leave
I had grown accustom being there

____________

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings
Just this morning
When I ate breakfast at two PM
They disappeared

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings
This morning before breakfast.
And I’d like to think they’re still there
Somewhere unseen
Like the rest of the world.

____________

Beautiful Blonde

She said
She just had too much on her plate
(There was no room for me?
How come there was room for me earlier
When she thought I was a heartthrob?)
And I understood
I had known since Monday, this was Friday
Yes
It took me a few days to get the picture
I am sort of slow but I know.
Kept tryin’ to justify it
I knew all along it was all-wrong
Never love a Blonde
Yet I just had to hope
I wasn’t a dope
And
This time it would be
Different.

____________

An afternoon painting

Sometimes it just flows effortlessly
Today I felt I was pushing it
Up hill
Had something in mind
Based of the last few days of work
Of what I wanted or expected to get
Pretty much unsatisfied
Till I gave up completely
Stared cleaning my brushes
Then scene I didn’t care any moor
It was already a frailer
I got back into it
Dripped a few things and let it be.

Now sitting in the back yard
Watching the flowers and butterflies
Sway in the wind

Robert Branaman—The Rusty Truck Interview

Scot:    Back in the day, what one poet stands out in your mind, and how so?

Bob:     Can’t really narrow it down to one poet, in my teens Poe, later Rimbaud, around the time I know Charles Plymell, when we started going to Wichita State, Pound. Later all the influences came in from the West Coast like Kenneth Patchen & Ferlinghetti’s  Coney Inland of the Mind.   I was given a copy of this in 1958 (just published) by the poet Alan Russo who had just returned from San Francisco . After going to university of Guadalajara, I moved to San Francisco in ’59. The influences continued and were many.