Review: Well it was a book of poems written by Charles Bukowski from 1974-1977, when he was around 55.

Henry Charles Bukowski (August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German American poet, novelist, and short story writer. Bukowski’s writing was heavily influenced by the geography and atmosphere of his home city of Los Angeles, and is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. A prolific author, Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories, and six novels, eventually having over 60 books in print. In 1986 Time called Bukowski a “laureate of American lowlife”
-wikipedia

His poetry was very raw, profligate, licentious, at times crude and lewd. Most of his poems had to do with the “whores” he sleeps with. Yes, like prostitutes and strippers. He was also an alcoholic who dabbled in illicit drugs. His poems talk about his endless consumption of alcohol, mostly beer. In some of his poems he does say he has to give up his voluptuary ways and find a nice woman and stop drinking. His poems are visceral and very blunt and honest. I read all 307 pages in like one day. I had heard that he was a popular writer in America so I wanted to know what he was all about. He has a legion of fans. In one poem he writes that he keeps his number and address listed and his fans do call him, they even proposition him for sex, which he takes. lol. He’s also an artist, a painter. He doesn’t live in affluence. In fact through his poems you imagine he lives close to squalor. He talks about the cockroaches that permeate his place. It’s about the harsh realities of living in near squalor and poverty in a rough part of Los Angeles as a sex addict and alcoholic. I can understand why his fans adore him, because he’s very honest. Also he’s like 55 when he wrote these poems. He died in 1994 at the age of 73. He’s a horny, drunkard old man.  He also has a thing for redheads. Those were his favorites

I give this book of poetry 3 out of 5 stars. I don’t rate it very high because his poetry isn’t exactly the kind of poetry I like. But if you want to read honest poetry about the life of a profligate, lewd, crude, raw, alcoholic man, then you’ll like this book of poems. Here’s the poem “Love is a Dog from Hell” which is the title of the book. It pretty much sets the theme/motifs of the entire book.

feet of cheese
coffeepot soul
hands that hate poolsticks
eyes like paperclips
I prefer red wine
I am bored on airliners
I am docile during earthquakes
I am sleepy at funerals
I puke at parades
and am sacrificial at chess
and cunt and caring
I smell urine in churches
I can no longer read
I can no longer sleep.

eyes like paperclips
my green eyes
I prefer white wine

my box of rubbers is getting
stale
I take them out
Trojan-Enz
lubricated
for greater sensitivity
I take them out
and put three of them on

the walls on my bedroom are blue

Linda where did you go?
Katherine where did you go?
(and Nina went to England)

I have toenail clippers
and Windex glass cleaner

green eyes
blue bedroom
bright machinegun sun

this whole thing is like a seal
caught on oily rocks
and circled by the Long Beach Marching Band
at 3:36 p.m.

there is a ticking behind me
but no clock
I feel something crawling along
the left side of my nose:
memories of airliners

my mother had false teeth
my father had false teeth
and every Saturday of their lives
they took up all the rugs in their house
waxed the hardwood floors
and covered them with rugs again

and Nina is in England
and Irene is on ATD
and I take my green eyes
and lay down in my blue bedroom.

Sphere: Related Content

permalink
trackback

Tags: , , ,

Related Posts