On the eve of electing a fucking Playgirl centerfold, Charles Bukowski..."back to the machine gun"

[Amerigo Vespucci]

back to the machine gun

I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.

the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
"hello, Hank!"

god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22

"hello," I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Pennysaver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.

I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.

there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers.

the night harness races will have to wait.

Charles Bukowski p/div]

[kentauros]

1. I've never been big on Bukowski

but I've always liked what I took the time to read. Thanks for the post :D

[Orrex]

5. You might try out some of his prose, which can be truly excellent

I recommend South of no North for starters.

Great stuff!

[kentauros]

6. Okay, I'll look for it.

I've got some gift money to spend anyway :D

[MiddleFingerMom]

2. My favorite Bukowski poem.

.
I had an amazing poetry professor in college, from UC Berkeley out of Glover
Davis out of Philip Levine. RESENTED the fact that he had to teach to
pay the mortgage (instead of thriving on the poetry he published), but may
have been my best teacher of all.
.
My first experience with him was in a weekly poetry workshop -- during the
first session, someone asked if there were any restrictions at all on our
language or content, and he said, "None whatsoever."
.
The gauntlet having been thrown down, I showed up the next week with a poem
about intolerance towards people with HIV, in which I intentionally used the
phrase, "in the backrooms of buttfuck bars"... just to test his credibility.
.
My fellow poets looked at me and then looked at him, expecting me to be
expelled not just from the class, but possibly our fourth-floor window.
.
His only comment about it was "that phrase about the bars, I don't think you
were saying what you were really meaning".
.
Damn if he wasn't spot on target. I LOVED that guy.
.
Anyways, he told me once (during one of our many nights of poet alcoholizing)
that if and when Bukowski died, I stood a good chance of inheriting the crown.
.
I LOVED that guy.
.
Didn't happen, though.
.
Here's my absolute favorite Bukowski piece.
.
Yes Yes

when God created love he didn't help most
when God created dogs He didn't help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when He created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low

when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire at the same time

He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.

[Amerigo Vespucci]

3. A great poet can never cut the tether that binds them to beauty

It's that simple.

It may have been a single strand of hair that bound Bukowski to the beauty in life, but now matter how drunken, no matter how brutal, no matter how coarse, no matter how obscene...

...you could still see the beauty.

Of course, there are many poets who traffic in beauty exclusively.

I generally don't real a lot of their poetry.

:toast:

[MiddleFingerMom]

4. Another MiddleFingerMom/Bukowski story

.
We threw a WILDLY successful Arts party where scores of college students
presented their art throughout this huge house just off-campus. The art
included paintings, sculpture, videos, music, poetry, dance. and our play,
which had been written by Charles Bukowski.
.
I played an extremely minor role of a doctor and had just one line. I
decided to pad my part and wear a rubber examination glove and shake the
hand of one of the other actors as I said my line. look closely at the
glove. shake something off it, and apologize.
.
Stopped by a Walgreen's to pick up an exam glove. Discovered finger cots,
which are teeny-tiny li'l rolled-up condoms designed to be worn on a finger
when administering a suppository to a patient. They were selling them singly
(not very hygienic) so I got 5 and took them to the busy check-out counter.
.
A lot of people in line behind me. Got to the counter, tossed my five "condoms"
down (each about the size of a nickel) and the possibly 18-year-old young
woman behind the counter looked at them. Then looked at me. Then looked at
them. Then looked at me. Etc. etc. etc. People behind me were snickering.
.
In a very loud and indignant voice, I said, "Would you PUH-LEASE hurry UP!!!
I've got a VERY hot date tonight.
.
The line behind me EXPLODED.
.
She took my money at full-arms length and laid my change on the counter a
couple of feet to our left.
.
Bukowski... ... ... ... inspires.

[MilesColtrane]

7. My favorite Bukowski:

Pull A String, A Puppet Moves



each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...