I suspect a lot of “rare” poetry is rare because it’s not very good. Its significance rests not with its quality rather with the importance of its author. Philip K. Dick was a brilliant author of speculative science-fiction; but of poetry, not so hot.

These 3 “rare” poems by PKD were posted on Reddit by thegoslings, who explains:

A little background: I saw six poems listed in a PKD bibliography, and couldn’t find anything more about them online. It took me a little searching to track down the original publications, and I finally got three of them through an Inter-Library Loan!

These came from Child’s Hat, which was published in San Francisco in 1966, and I don’t think they appeared anywhere else.

THE ABOVE AND MELTING

Soft as tin,
Melting in the rain,
Melting and dripping down,

Soft as stones that are limp,
That can be bent into shapes
And stretched out,

Soft as bones,
Mashed into paste,
Mixed with pale milk,

Soft as crystal,
Dug from sweet soil,
Slowly stirred,

It is soft as these:
The moon on a warm wet night.

 

WHY I AM HURT

Stung by a jewel!
Piercing the hand,
Clinging against the flesh.

Stung by a jewel!
The point deep into the hand,
Driven in allowed.

Stung by a jewel!
The child shouts out,
Shattering the jewel.

Amber bottle-caps rain down,
Fragments of grief
Lost in the ground.

 

AN OLD SNAKE

Philosophy is an old web
Long deserted, The dreams
The spider wove into it
Glimmer weakly during night
In the sun they are only this:
Fragments of dread leaves.

thegoslings will be posting more of Philip K Dick’s poetry when available.
 
With thanks to thegoslings, via Reddit