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.

Beat Filter of the Wichita Vortex: The Continuing Impact of Robert Branaman’s Films, Text, Paintings and Assemblages by Marc Olmsted

I first heard of Bob Branaman from L.A. performance artist Milo Johnson, who said to the effect that I “had to meet this guy, he knew all the Beats.”  I have to admit to a certain cynicism – such claims of Beat friendship are made by people who might’ve waved at Allen Ginsberg across the room, let alone had a few sentences with him.  My cardinal sin here rebounded in my face like an elastic band with an iron anvil on the end: “Well, how come I don’t know about him if he’s so fucking great?”  Not only do I now stand corrected, but it proved a profound teaching for my own poet’s obscurity dark to the horizon as well.  That Acme Dynamite roadrunner cartoon moment – the whites of my eyes blinking from a sooty, burned carcass in a moment of clarity – if you can’t make this American culture money, accidentally or otherwise, it has no interest in your droning commentaries.  You are a ghost.

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.