Found this letter from Bob Dylan to Lawrence Ferlinghetti rumored to have been written in 1963…
have no sports car.
traffic moving slowly thru tunnel.
breeze is from the west an I ahah am goin
t france tomorrow. have t look thru all my pants pockets
an collect things t send t you.
as of now I am in the midst of destroyin all I’ve
done (I’ve even crashed my old typewriter t pieces an have burned my
pens into little tiny plastic statues)
I know I will send you something one of these days.
all I have t do is finish something t send you.
in any case, if I am poisened or framed or kilt orratted on
I will will will you some edgar lee masters?
type (bob dylan written) poems of grand embarassment.
thelonius monk grand style grand (me upright)
the world’s fair begun down there.
Sailin on (across the sone) son,
sawn. dawn. anyway I’m gone.
I’m up here.
my adress is me-bearsville. just got back from trip t boston area.
sung songs at providence.
arrived in amhearst with 15 friends from cambridge.
left providence with 15 friends from providence.
ditched them on highway tho. (yes I pledge alliegence t the luckyness of havin
some so many friends.)
an here’s t the republic.
up the irish.
ah yes my flag has turned into one color.
ha you must be joking. I’m not turnin. burnin. maybe smokin.
not running cunning.
I aint none of them things.
yes most deffinately would like t borrow cabin at big sur.
cant say when.
it just hit me.
I do got things of songs an stories for you.
my hangup is tho that I know there will be more.
I want t send the more more then I want t send the got.
yes I guess that’s it.
that’s it in a nutshell pruneskin.
that’s the whole story.
nothin but the truth.
nothin but the nothin.
would’ve liked t spent more time in san francisco.
would like t spend more time in many places.
sometime I will.
someday I will.
tomorrow. yeah tomorrow.
I a, in a strange light alright.
I remember a few years ago.
ridin the rods all wrong.
hitchhiking (pretending stock markets crashin all over me) thru the ever ready
usa. guitar on my back.
my thoughful tool.
yes an the only thing I wished was that someday I’d be able t come back
t these fucked up shootin gallery pay me for my playin coffee houses.
oh how I used t hope that someday if nothin else. I’d have enuff friends or
know the right people t survive with my head at least as groovy as
theirs … man.
I never got a chance.
I got a motorcycle tho.
but unlike the last ones I had on south dakota an minnesota roads,
this one’s for the fields.
so you see, after all, I’m not really going all that fast.
you cant go too fast in the fields you know.
the only thing that’s wrong is that there’s no fuckin motels.
absolutely no advertising.
I’m the first one hit by the forest fires an god knows that a fallout
shelter’d be insane.
terrible buzzard flies an my front steps all loaded with killed dear
hit by cars … yet I still wave t airplanes
an shit like that (what whit like that?) so I’m not all bad.
yes I’ve chopped much wood.
I’ll write you later an send clippings from my head.
as for now there’s a horn honkin.
must be for me.
or however you spell that.
will be in france for awhile.
someplace where they dont read life magazine.
of course I’ll be back tho.
an will be out in sanfrancisco again.
I have nothin t do.
an no place t go.
say hi for me.
say hi t anybody
see you then
homogenized. egg creamed. pie in the faced
egg in the eyed
untied. complyed. plywooded. do-gooded. hooded.
lamp shaded understated hated backdated
muscatelled. muscatold musca went wrong someplace
displaced. cock traced
embraced umbraced ohbraced
see you then
More somewhat related letters of note can be found upstairs in the poetry room…