On Sunday, May 30, 2004 at 3:31:25 AM UTC-4 fearde...@yahoo.com wrote:
True Way Ministries" wrote:
>
>> > > Sounds like a real winner.
> > >
> > > (and confessed dirty old man)
> > >
> > > Sounds like my kinda guy, but I never like what
> > > I read from him.
> > >
> > > But Thx :-)
> >
> > Buk had a great power, much like Kerouac. Plus, I love the way the
> > smug academics bristle when they see him continually capture the
> > praise, while they remain forgotten, at best.
> >
> > A poet and a man... with the balls to carry off what they can only
> > have secret fantasies of.
>
> So if you can..... copyright-wise...
>
> Gimme his best.

I wonder what of Bukowski's poetry is already out there in the Usenet
archives... I think I'll have a look...

> > > Charles Bukowski: A Solitary Life
> > > "Build then the ship of death for you must take the longest
journey to
> > > oblivion."--D.H. Lawrence
> > >
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> > >
> > > Charles Bukowski was known as the "poet laureate of the gutter,"
but he
> > > never lived a day in Los Angeles' skid-row district. He wrote
about
> > > being "down and out," but, in reality, held a job with the U.S.
post
> > > office for 12 years. Stories of Bukowski's drinking are
legendary,
> > > but some of his closest friends claim to have caught him
"nursing"
> > > beers. He boasted of his sexual prowess, but there were long
stretches
> > > of his life when he couldn't get laid "in a morgue." The
> > > self-proclaimed "barfly" lived out his later years in a
ranch-style
> > > house in San Pedro, California, with an attractive young wife 24
years
> > > his junior, expensive German wines on the rack and a BMW in the
> > > driveway. Howard Sounes' new biography, Charles Bukowski: Locked
in
> > > the Arms of a Crazy Life (Grove Press, $25, 320 pages), attempts
to
> > > separate Bukowski's actual-and often contradictory-life from that
> > > of his alter ego, Henry Chinaski.
> > >
> > > The basic details of Bukowski's life are widely known to most of
his
> > > fanatical readers. Henry Charles Bukowski was born in Andernach,
> > > Germany, on August 16, 1920, the son of a local seamstress and a
U.S.
> > > Army soldier stationed there after World War I. The family set
sail
> > > aboard the U.S.S. President Fillmore in 1923 in hopes of finding
a > > > better life in California. According to Bukowski's third novel,
Ham
> > > on Rye, he had a miserable childhood courtesy of his father, a
sadistic
> > > tyrant who regularly beat young Henry and his mother over the
slightest
> > > infractions. To make matters worse, Bukowski suffered from a rare
skin
> > > disorder, diagnosed as acne vulgaris, once he reached his teens.
His
> > > only refuge was the local public library, where he voraciously
devoured
> > > the writings of "The Lost Generation" school of American
novelists such
> > > as Hemingway (whose later works he despised), Sherwood Anderson
and
> > > John Dos Passos, as well as the works of European writers,
including
> > > Dostoyevsky's Notes from the Underground, Knut Hamsun's Hunger
and
> > > Louis-Ferdinand Celine's Journey to the End of Night.
> > >
> > > During his 20s, Bukowski drifted from job to job (including work
in a
> > > dog biscuit factory, slaughterhouse and potato chip warehouse),
> > > drinking, fighting and getting rejected from publishers along the
way.
> > > He did manage to get his first short story published during this
> > > period, "Aftermath of a Lengthy Rejection Slip," in Story
magazine. The
> > > great love of his life, Jane Cooney Baker, was a widowed
alcoholic 11
> > > years his senior with an immense pot belly. She served as the
model for
> > > "Wanda" in the 1987 Bukowski-scripted film Barfly starring Mickey
> > > Rourke and Faye Dunaway. After a long stint as a postal worker,
> > > Bukowski worked out a deal with Black Sparrow Press publisher
John
> > > Martin to quit his job, freeing him to write poetry, drink booze
and
> > > bet at the racetrack. By the late 1980s, Bukowski had received a
> > > measure of success in the United States and a couple of films had
been
> > > released based on his writings, including the entertaining
Barfly, the
> > > abysmal Tales of Ordinary Madness starring Ben Gazarra and the
European
> > > production Love is a Dog from Hell(which he considered the most
> > > faithful rendition of his work). During his final years, he
visited the
> > > track every day, listened to classical music, drank expensive
wine and
> > > wrote poetry well into the night. Bukowski died of leukemia on
March 9,
> > > 1994, at the age of 73.
> > >
> > > Neeli Cherkovski covered much of the same ground in his 1991
biography,
> > > Hank, but the book was a stale, scholarly piece of shit. Bukowski
> > > himself called it "virtually unreadable," "dull" and "inept."
Sounes'
> > > biography delves much more deeply into some of the truthful, and
often
> > > unpleasant, episodes that even Bukowski felt were lacking from
> > > Cherkovski's tome. For instance:
> > >
> > > Bukowski claimed a great affinity with the hobos who rode the
rails
> > > during the '30s and '40s, but he never rode a boxcar nor
hitchhiked
> > > in his life.
> > > Shortly after his first chapbook, Flower, Fist and Bestial Wail,
was
> > > published in 1960, Bukowski attempted suicide by gassing himself
in his
> > > room, but quickly changed his mind.
> > > According to friends, Bukowski suffered from one of the world's
worst
> > > cases of hemorrhoids, evident by the tubes of Preparation-H
always
> > > visible in his waste basket.
> > > Bukowski refused to admit he was an alcoholic since, on occasion,
he
> > > could refrain from drinking for up to a day.
> > > The first word Bukowski's daughter, Marina, learned to read was
> > > "liquor" since Hank spent so much of his leisure time in a
drunken
> > > stupor.
> > > Bukowski often denounced the '60s drug culture, but friends
remember
> > > him smoking marijuana, taking uppers and downers, and on one
occasion,
> > > dropping acid.
> > > Bukowski used his weekly column in the periodical Open City,
"Notes
> > > from a Dirty Old Man," as a method of spreading untruths about
> > > acquaintances that he felt had betrayed him, in the process
trashing a
> > > number of close friendships.
> > > After a young poet Bukowski had befriended drank himself to
death, Hank
> > > tried to seduce his grieving widow.
> > > Sounes' biography lays down all of the sordid details of
Bukowski's
> > > complex life. We come away with a truer picture of the sources of
pain
> > > and rejection that led to so many of his most memorable writings.
One
> > > minor disappointment: The book fails to mention anything about a
> > > derelict friend of Bukowski's known simply as "Red Strange" or
"Kid
> > > Red," a mentally ill tramp who wandered the highways and byways
of
> > > America. Bukowski often plied Red with beer and encouraged him to
> > > relate his wildest stories, many of which ended up in Bukowski's
own
> > > poems and short stories. Red's influence is acknowledged by
Bukowski
> > > in The Bukowski Tapes. It would have been nice to learn more
about the
> > > background and current whereabouts of this mysterious source of
> > > inspiration.
> > >
> > > What will Bukowski's legacy be? He successfully opened up the
field
> > > of poetry to include the lower tier of American society-cheap
motel
> > > rooms, menial factory jobs, skid-row alcoholics, social outcasts
and
> > > the boredom of everyday life. Can you imagine T.S. Eliot or W.H.
Auden
> > > writing poems like "the night I fucked my alarm clock", "I have
shit
> > > stains in my underwear too" and "I saw an old-fashioned whore
today"?
> > > Not likely! Five years after his death, I still prefer to think
of him
> > > sitting in a small room somewhere in front of an old Remington
> > > typewriter laying down the line. It's late at night, the radio's
> > > tuned to Gustav Mahler and there's a bottle of wine at his side.
> > >
> > > By the way, Bukowski is buried in Green Hills Memorial Park,
Palos
> > > Verdes, California. His epitaph? "Don't Try."
> > > ê1999 Shelf-Life Productions

W-Dockery wrote:

> Zod wrote:

>> On Tuesday, January 31, 2023 at 11:45:14 PM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
>>> Zod wrote:
>>>
>>> > On Tuesday, July 24, 2007 at 2:56:15 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>>> >> On Jul 24, 10:00 am, baloney wrote:
>>> >> > "Vera" wrote
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > His name suggests a Polish background.
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > I found little of his poetry in Google, but maybe I didn't
>>> >> > > > search well enough. Don't have that much time on the net--
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > Would someone be so kind as to post something of his
>>> >> > > > (not in complete form, of course!) Best to leave out a middle
>>> >> > > > part rather than that essential last line.
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > At least I should know whose style I'm copying!
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > Thank you!
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > > Vera
>>> >> >
>>> >> > > huh? you're copying Bukowski? I think you like
>>> >> > > yourself WAY too much for there to ever be
>>> >> > > any confusion about the two.
>>> >> >
>>> >> > I think someone else compared Vera's style to Buk's, and she doesn't
>>> >> > know much about him, so she is curious.
>>> >> Probably the "chopped-up-prose" thing, I guess,
>>> >> > Someone at the local strip mall said the old man looked like Jimmy
>>> >> > Buffet, so he asked me who he is for much the same reason. My answer
>>> >> > was, "Well, he isn't Warren Buffet; I think he's a musician." I
>>> >> > looked up Jimmy Buffet, and excepting the ubiquitous Hawaiian shirt, I
>>> >> > still think the old man looks more like Teddy Roosevelt. "Bully!"
>>> >> Interesting that Buffett /and/ Roosevelt come to mind constantly when
>>> >> I'm around Barfield, he's got the swashbucking sailor-rough riding
>>> >> warrior poet thing down, and have lived it since I first met him as a
>>> >> kid.
>>> >> On the Buffett angle, here's probably the ultimate JB song-poem:
>>> >> A Pirate Looks At Forty
>>> >> Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call
>>> >> Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall
>>> >> You've seen it all, you've seen it all
>>> >> Watched the men who rode you switch from sails to steam
>>> >> And in your belly you hold the treasures few have ever seen
>>> >> Most of 'em dream, most of 'em dream
>>> >> Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late
>>> >> The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
>>> >> I'm an over-forty victim of fate
>>> >> Arriving too late, arriving too late
>>> >> I've done a bit of smugglin', I've run my share of grass
>>> >> I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast
>>> >> Never meant to last, never meant to last
>>> >> And I have been drunk now for over two weeks
>>> >> I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks
>>> >> But I got stop wishin', got to go fishin'
>>> >> Down to rock bottom again
>>> >> Just a few friends, just a few friends
>>> >> (instrumental)
>>> >> I go for younger women, lived with several awhile
>>> >> Though I ran 'em away, they'd come back one day
>>> >> Still could manage to smile
>>> >> Just takes a while, just takes a while
>>> >> Mother, mother ocean, after all the years I've found
>>> >> My occupational hazard being my occupation's just not around
>>> >> I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown
>>> >> Coda:
>>> >> I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown
>>> >> -Jimmy Buffett, 1974
>>> >> > Wry little poem by Buk, thanks for posting.
>>> >> It probably goes without saying that Buk's one of my favorites, though
>>> >> his name hasn't come up much lately (the last time was prbably when I
>>> >> compared Chuck's "shock" style to Buk)... Dale Houstman gave me a very
>>> >> memorable paperback book blurb quote when he wrote that I was "...a
>>> >> better poet than Bukowski..." or something similar.
>>> >> Anyhow, I don't have the book handy and no time to Google (a few hours
>>> >> of sailboat repair await today) but "Boarding House Madrigals" is the
>>> >> poetry book of Buk's I'd name as a favorite out of the dozens out
>>> >> there, containing many favorites which were fun to read aloud when the
>>> >> time came to wake up the audience. The one where Buk writes
>>> >> "...My old lady wouldn't let me sleep..." a few more lines "...so I
>>> >> killed her."
>>> >> and the one where he wakes up from a drunken night and finds his
>>> >> friend with his big toes in his old lady's... well, you can guess
>>> >> where, or know the poem already... I might look these up later, if
>>> >> they're online somewhere, and post them here... great stuff.
>>> >> --
>>> >> "God's Toybox" by Dockery-Beck:
>>> >> http://www.myspace.com/shadowvilleallstars
>>> >> "Hasty Pudding" by Dockery-Conley:
>>> >> http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
>>>
>>> > I know Penhead will enjoy this one... ha ha.
>>> Good find, Zod.

>> I thank....

> Good morning my friend, thanks again for helping keep the record straight.

> 🙂

Hard to go wrong with BUK....