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Brian Kerin A & E Editor
Charles Bukowski was a rebel, his poetry for the most part was crass and vulgar, and he wrote about the darker sides of life and the people that lived there. For the most part "Buk" was a genius; his brutal honesty and sobering observations were turned into more than forty books of prose, poetry, novels, and short stories. I can truly say Charles Bukowski is one of my favorite writers. Born in Germany in the 1920's and brought over to America when he was three, Charles Bukowski grew up in one of the poorest sections of Los Angeles. He lived a hard life. Money was hard to come by and fights with the neighborhood kids were common. He published his first story at age twenty-four and first book of poetry at thirty-five. Most of "Buk's" work was based on his own experiences but he also created "Hank Chinaski" for some of his work representing his earliest years in life. Later "Hank" would become a character in a Francis Ford Coppola's film titled "Barfly", which was written by Bukowski and based on his life. Although Bukowski wrote all sorts of literature he was best known for his poetry and prose. He covered such topics as prostitutes, fighting, and drunkenness, hangovers, and observations on American culture in general. Some of his most well known books are; "Women", "Ham on rye", and "The last night of the earth poems". To the bottom of this page, I selected three poems from his last book, published after his death in 1994, "Open all night: New Poems (2000)".
my room was a block away. I opened the bar a 5 a.m. and closed it at 2 a.m. often the dark and the light got mixed up. I'd be sitting there and it would be last call. then in a moment the sun would be up and I'd still be sitting there. "Jim," I'd say to the bartender, "I thought it was last call." at other times I'd fond myself in the bar full of people. everybody would be drinking and talking and I'd have a drink in my hand I hardly knew any of the people but it seemed like a good time. "hey, hey," I'd say. 5 years of that bar. and nobody came and got me. but I wasn't crazy. I just didn't know what else to do. one night I was sitting at the bar and somebody said, "I smell smoke. there's a fire somewhere." "oh it's here." I said. a large flame was creeping up my leg, a beautiful, curling crackling red flame. I reached down and patted it out with my hand which got burned all to hell. anybody else would have sought medical treatment. we all just laughed and I got a free drink. actually, what got me out of the bar was the advent of television which was just coming in. after they put in the TV, people were no longer the entertainers. they just sat together and looked at the screen. I started drinking in my room. I drank and I drank and I drank in my room. one day I walked out of that room, got on a bus and left the city. something had died in America, forever. I had finished my 5 years on that end stool just in time.
I met this woman and she said, you're in terrible shape, let's clean you up, and she started squeezing my blackheads. she squeezed those blackheads everywhere: in the car, in the market, in bed, in the park (in between we made love). I ran out of blackheads before I ran out of love. what are we doing to do now? She asked. then she began plucking hair out of my ears and nose and from around my eyes and eyebrows, from my back, with a tweezer . we ran out of hair before I ran out of love. what are we going to do now? she asked. I ran out of blackheads and hair before I ran out of love. now she's packed her clothes and is moving out tonight but not before she cleans the wax out of my ears. a highly unusual woman. © 2002 Shoreline Community College™ |
