As I scanned the obituaries regarding the death of Kurt Vonnegut ~ I was looking for the one that would capture the true essence of this unique man, the one that would capture his spirit and vitality that was, quite literally, a force of nature.
Who else but Vonnegut could write this ~ "If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph: 'The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.'"
My patience was rewarded when a friend, Sandy Mitchell, sent me this piece by Harvey Wasserman.
Excerpt: " It took a breathtaking psychic freedom to merge the interstellar worlds he created from whole cloth with the social imperatives of a changing age. It was that combination of talent, heart and liberation that gave Vonnegut a cutting edge he never lost... leaving us in his eighties, Kurt also leaves us decades of anecdotes and volumes of writings—and doodlings—about which to write. But lost in the mainstream obituaries—including the one in the New York Times—is the ferocity with which he opposed this latest claque of vicious war-mongers."
Enjoy ~
Allen L Roland http://blogs.salon.com/0002255/2007/04/14.html
Peace Be With You, Kurt Vonnegut
by Harvey Wasserman
http://www.commondreams.org/archive/2007/04/13/492/
As the media fills with whimsical good-byes to one of America’s greatest writers, lets not forget one of the great engines driving this wonderful man—he HATED war.
Including this one in Iraq. And he had utter contempt for the men who brought it about. Kurt Vonnegut was a divine spark of liberating genius for an entire generation. His brilliant, beautiful, loving and utterly unfettered novels helped us redefine ourselves in leaving the corporate America in the 1950s and the Vietnam war that followed.
Having seen the worst of World War II from a meatlocker in fire-bombed Dresden, Kurt’s Sirens of Titan, Cat’s Cradle, Slaughterhouse Five and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, cut us the intellectual and spiritual slack to seek out a new reality. It took a breathtaking psychic freedom to merge the interstellar worlds he created from whole cloth with the social imperatives of a changing age. It was that combination of talent, heart and liberation that gave Vonnegut a cutting edge he never lost.
Leaving us in his eighties, Kurt also leaves us decades of anecdotes and volumes of writings—and doodlings—about which to write. But lost in the mainstream obituaries—including the one in the New York Times—is the ferocity with which he opposed this latest claque of vicious war-mongers.
Vonnegut gave his last campus speech in Columbus. He and I met here many years ago, after another speech.
Not knowing me from Adam, he was gracious enough to give me his home address.
Out of the blue, I sent him a book-length poem about the passing of my parents. I was shocked when he called me on the phone about it. I asked for his help in finding a publisher. He said to publish it on my own, and gave me advice on how to do it, along with a blurb for the cover.
