Life is more interesting when you talk to strangers.

Better yet is the chance to write for them.

That's exactly what Jeremy M. Brownlowe, 31, does several times a week on sidewalks around Portland. He sets out a TV tray, a folding chair and a Smith-Corona Galaxie Deluxe typewriter.

Then he puts up a sign: "Custom poems. Give me a word, I'll give you a poem."

As the Typewriter Troubadour, he writes on-demand poetry for donations, which generally range from $5 to $20 a poem.

During the First Thursday art walk, I hung out with Jeremy for about an hour as he wrote. I sat awkwardly on the ground, cradling my camera and scribbling in my notebook. Jeremy was seated in his chair, nattily dressed in a porkpie hat and red Cuban-style guayabera dress shirt. Next to us, an artist had postcard-sized paintings for sale spread across a blanket.

A random guy wearing a Mexican wrestling mask walked by, pointed at our motley sidewalk trio, and said "I love everything that's happening here."

For a moment, I felt like a Portlander.

First Thursday business was steady for our poet. He was asked to write poems about redwood trees, an artist having her first gallery show and a birthday. A pair of couples asked for a piece about "friendship." They were four friends meeting up on vacation.

"Do you have a poem in ya?" one of them asked Jeremy.

Street poetry is a collaboration between writer and customer, and Jeremy spends time talking to people about the topic or person they want him to write about. The foursome talked with Jeremy about how they had met, what they were doing, and why their friendship had lasted years even though they live in different cities.

Within about five minutes, Jeremy had cranked out a friendship poem, hitting the keys of the typewriter like a percussion instrument. No edits. No delete key.

"I just taught myself by ear," Jeremy said. "I don't know the different types of poetry, I haven't studied poetry. I even had someone explain to me what a haiku was. I just write what I write."

Terrance Williams, who commissioned the poem, said it was an opportunity to remember a special moment with something more interesting than a selfie.

"You can go to a bar and have some drinks and have a good conversation, but that little memory of this poem is such a unique and beautiful thing," he said.

Jeremy has written funny poems about beer or pinball. He once wrote a poem about the word "meatball" for a couple expecting a child. Months later, he saw the couple again, this time with a healthy baby.

"Meet our meatball!" they said.

A customer in Bend asked Jeremy to write a poem about terminal cancer, having just received the diagnosis.

"It's almost shocking how much people are willing to open themselves up," he said. "Especially in today's culture, it's rare that I see people randomly talking to strangers... I'm essentially a stranger on the street that's being made available as a receptacle of their feelings."

I think there's a part of us that wants a connection with strangers. Jeremy craves it, too.

"To help them find the words for things that they can't necessarily say but to have their thoughts and feelings reflected back to them, I think it's a powerful experience for both of us," Jeremy said.

Jeremy did not invent the concept of a busking typewriter poet. You might find someone doing similar work in cities across the country.

Last year, Jeremy set out on what would become a three-month road trip across the country. He'd brought a typewriter to capture his thoughts and a guitar to make a few bucks on street corners and supplement his travel savings. At a poetry reading in Arizona, a woman suggested he earn money not with the guitar, but with the typewriter.

"I thought she was absolutely insane," Jeremy said. "I didn't try it until a couple of days later, when I happened upon a small town in Arizona named Jerome."

The tiny town had an Old West vibe that seemed to match the ethos of the typewriter he'd brought. He sat on the sidewalk, and eventually a man asked for a poem about "epiphany."

"It was the perfect first word," Jeremy said. "It really was me receiving the message to do what I'm doing."

the pink and orange rays

shine over the crest of

the Sedona hills.



I came threw town searchin

and hopin for something



some sort of sign that I was on the road towards

an epiphany

or at least on the right

side of town



suddenly against the red rock

the wind stopped and the sun burst through the soul that

had been searching



a miracle, a silence settled

the wander within.

Can you make a living doing this? Jeremy says it's a hustle. When we met he still had a day job, but hoped to write - street poetry and freelancing - full-time.

Spring and summer are the high busking seasons, and you can find Jeremy at First Thursday, Last Thursday and usually on weekends in the 3900 block of Mississippi. He also writes for weddings or other private events.

I have days between columns, so the idea of writing within a five-minute deadline is both terrifying and intriguing. But I have been thinking about putting a sign on my laptop - "I'm a columnist. Tell me a story" - and hanging out in parks and coffee shops while I write. I need to meet more strangers.

And I'm thinking of hitting the road, too. I've lived in Oregon six years, but there's a lot of the state I've never seen. I've never visited Eugene or Ashland or Klamath Falls or Burns. I'd like to talk to locals in these towns, try to better understand this state, find out what people are excited or worried or happy about.

Jeremy says he learned a lot about himself and human nature during his big road trip. It's good to meet strangers, and sometimes to be one yourself.

-- Samantha Swindler

@editorswindler / 503-294-4031

sswindler@oregonian.com