Robert Hunter, Grateful Dead’s poetic lyricist, transitions

Photo: Robert Hunter

Robert Hunter, the man behind the poetic and mystical words for many of the Grateful Dead’s finest songs, has died at age 78.

The Life and times of a Poetic Lyricist

The entertainment fraternity has lost an outstanding lyricist in the person of Robert Hunter … whose cause of death was not revealed by his family.

Robert Hunter who was 78 of Grateful Dead fame has finally died. He saw a rough life. Abandoned at an early age by his father, was forced to grew up in foster care. It was after his mother got married to a publisher who changed his surname to Hunter that his life took off. “I often felt like an outsider” he remarked. That feeling of low self-esteem can easily be understood. He was determined to make his mark. In fact he did make his life mean something of worth. Leaving songs to last for decades. He attended University for one year .. yet he was an author with a number of publications.

Poet

He wrote a number of books and songs and was later inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame as a lyricist.
His remarkable life has left indelible footprints on the music industry. He was once described as a fine “wordsmith.”

For over 30 years the Grateful Dead acquired international acclaim as a band worth listening to. When they were inducted in the Rock and Roll & Roll Hall Of Fame, Hunter was also inducted as a lyricist.

I think it is only fitting to pen this tribute from me a poet to a noted wordsmith Robert Hunter who left a literary mark of invaluable worth … and was rightly referred to as an intellectual.

Poetic Tribute

Robert could have been a guitarist
Instead opted to be a poetic lyricist
Described as a noted wordsmith
His life took a remarkable twist …

Abandoned at an early age
Yet left footprints on many a page
This to many would be an outrage
Yet, played a super role on life’s stage

From a rather humble beginning
He played an outstanding inning
Writing songs of rare intensity
Has bequeathed an enviable legacy

As the ink in his pen runs dry
To God be the glory … won’t ask why?
Do poets ever really die?
I think only their pens run dry

They are historians in a strange way
By the thoughts they say …
Recording the events of the day
Unconcerned of their twist or sway

Ride on, ride on, your majesty …
Yours was an inning of some mastery
You came, saw and even was discarded
Today you are being highly regarded …

Amen!

Hopeton O’Connor-Dennie, poet, satirist, elegist, journalist, and Senior International Correspondent

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