Hello and good evening. It has come to my attention that some bloggers are prone to post poems on Friday, but due to circumstances beyond my control I was unable to comply this week. This is my first entry. The theme for the next few weeks will be What J Was Reading in His Teens and Early Twenties. This entry is no surprise for those who know me, but some might be surprised that I didn't choose one of Bukowski's more, um, "scandalous" poems. Well, for me, Bukowski shouldn't necessarily be regarded only as a writer of dirty or shocking poetry, but as a representative of America's underclass; the migrant worker, the ex-con, the drunks and the addicts. Was he a flawed character? Probably. His grammar was rocky and at times his ego bleeds way too much into the text. Take from him what you will.
I used Bukowski as a measure of character. I never trusted anyone who either vehemently adored or despised the man. Enjoy.
the souls of dead animals
after the slaughterhouse
there was a bar around the corner
and I sat in there
and watched the sun go down
through the window,
a window that overlooked a lot
full of tall dry weeds.
I never showered with the boys at the
plant
after work
so I smelled of sweat and
blood.
the smell of sweat lessens after a
while
but the blood-smell begins to fulminate
and gain power.
I smoked cigarettes and drank beer
until I felt good enough to
board the bus
with the souls of those dead
animals riding with
me;
heads would turn slightly
women would rise and move away from
me.
when I got off the bus
I only had a block to walk
and one stairway up to my
room
where I'd turn on my radio and
light a cigarette
and nobody minded me
at all.
Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)
5 comments:
How would he represent "the underclass, the migrant worker", being neither? To me, Bukowski's writing is representative of decadent slumming for Anglo males of a certain age harbouring fantasies about becoming writerly drunkards. It wouldn't be accurate to say I despise his writing, but I do find it mildly distasteful and profoundly boring. Put that, dear sir, in your pipe and smoke it.
*L
But I do like this one poem. Contrary, aren't I?
I think you're missing an important point with Bukowski. He didn't exactly have an easy life; he grew up with an abusive father and didn't really fit in with the middle-class crowd everyone believes he supposedly belonged to.
He didn't drink to achieve some cult status, although he was definitely lionized because of it. No, he drank for the same reason most people drank, to get away from something that haunts them. Keep in mind, he gave up writing for years. He worked as a postie and drank instead. He just gave up on writing during this period.
The student critic in me thinks you're associating the imitators with the writer. They're two different things. Obviously, you have a problem with his imitators, since you conclude that it's all about "decadent slumming for Anglo males of a certain age harbouring fantasies about becoming writerly drunkards." You're being dismissive, which is a dangerous position.
I'm glad you liked the poem. How come?
*cackles*
*lights cigar and pours a whiskey*
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