In memory of Kurt Brown
Last week, author, poet and good friend Kurt Brown died after a sudden illness. Every night this week at midnight Pacific, I am posting something to honor his memory including one of his poems each day. If you wish to read tonight’s reflection, hit More.
In the 90s, Kurt and I were busy writing. He, poems. Me, screenplays. But while not necessarily being seduced by Hollywood, I think it’s fair to say he was pretty fascinated by it.
Kurt loved movies and would call me often to give a review of a film he’d just seen. His personal taste ran to indie fare, but he liked big popcorn movies, too… as long as they had an authentic emotional center.
But here’s the thing: Kurt used to pitch me story ideas. Over the years, perhaps two dozen.
“Scott, I’ve got a great idea for a movie!”
They were generally what you might expect from a poet, especially one with a sense of humor like Kurt. Bizarre bits of business, odd little notions. I would tell him, “Kurt, you need to have an actual story concept to make a movie.”
“Ah, concept.”
And off he would go only to hit me up with an email or call a few months later.
“Scott, I’ve got a fantastic idea for a movie!”
We both tacitly understood that the prime motivator was the desire to work together on a project, find a worthy excuse to occupy the same room, and indulge our creative musings.
We actually started a script project once. In yet another one of his pitch-mode phone calls, Kurt said, “What if there is a man who is the richest, most powerful person in the entire world, but also the most mysterious. Why? Because nobody knows what he looks like. He is completely anonymous. No photos. No video. No trace of him except a global corporate entity with his name on it and a core group of business associates, all his old college buddies, who do his bidding and keep to an iron clad pledge to protect their cohort’s secret identity.”
Think about that for a second. Someone with the Sultan of Brunei’s money and Steve Jobs’ fame, only he could be the guy sitting next to you at McDonald’s chowing down on an Egg McMuffin… and you wouldn’t even know.
Instead of being enslaved by his fame, his every move followed by the world’s press, this visionary knew the path to freedom was compete and total anonymity.
His name was Jimmy Do. And he truly was the world’s most mysterious man.
Now bring into the mix a failing journalist who sets out to accomplish the impossible and land the biggest story of a generation: discover the identity of Jimmy Do. And that struck me as a solid foundation for a mystery thriller.
I traveled to Snowmass, Colorado where Kurt was living at the time and we spent two afternoons brainstorming ideas. And we came up with some wonderful scenarios, twists and turns.
Then, as usual, life got in the way. I landed three writing assignments back to back to back. One thing led to another. Months passed, then years.
Jimmy Do became Jimmy Don’t.
I sit here staring at 3 audio cassettes. I recorded those brainstorming sessions with Kurt. I have a tape recorder right here. I could put one of those cassettes into the recorder, push play and hear Kurt’s voice… right now.
But I can’t. A wave of regret sweeps over me.
I should have written that project with Kurt.
Of course over the years when Kurt would bring up Jimmy Do, and I would offer this excuse or that, always about trying to find the time, he understood.
Right now as I sit here, cassettes in hand… I don’t.
Death will do that. It has a way of upsetting everything. Perhaps more than anything, our relationship with time.
Each of us knows we are born with an expiration date. We come to terms with that on a personal level in order to be functional human beings and go about doing what we do each day.
But the thing we may forget is that our friends have an expiration date, too.
What to do when we grasp that too late?
Here is another poem by Kurt from a collection titled “Fables from the Ark”.
Primordial Soup
By Kurt Brown
Sunlight on dry mud?
A drop of thickened water?
You might stare at one spot for eons
and never see it stir.
But there, in the corner of your eye,
at the edge of vision —
something swims into view,
already willful
and wriggling like a baby.
But from Where? And by Who?
You may learn more about Kurt by going here.
An obituary in the Aspen Daily News.
You may find some of Kurt’s original poetry as well as numerous books he has edited here.
For Part 1 of my tribute to Kurt, you may go here.
For Part 2, go here.
For Part 3, go here.
Godspeed, Kurt.