some bukowski in the internet dark

I’m doing my page on my daughter’s version of my web site because the old one doesn’t load this morning. Presumably the switch in domain we requested has taken place and Sarah needs to make some pointers or something so that you dear reader arrive here.

In the meantime, I will blindly blog here. I do sometimes journal off line especially if what I have to write is private.

This morning several Bukowski poems struck me. Since my friend Rhonda recently mentioned that she liked some of the poems I put up, I am encouraged to continue sharing poems.


the harder you try

the waste of words
continues with a stunning
as the waiter runs by carrying the loaded
for all the wise white boys who laugh at
no matter. no matter,
as long as your shoes are tied and
nobody is walking too close
just being able to scratch yourself and
be nonchalant is victory
those constipated minds that seek
larger meaning
will be dispatched with the other
back off.
if there is light
it will find

Charles Bukowski

“If there is light it will find you” are oddly positive and comforting words to me. Bukowski is a brutal poet. I find him to be an antidote to bland.

I’m putting up these few poems in retrograde order from when I read and noted their beauty so this is the last poem I earmarked this morning.

Here’s the beginning of  a poem that hit me before I read  “the harder you try”:

from Salty Dogs

got to the track early to study the odds and here’s
this man coming by
dusting seats, he keeps at his work, dusting, most
probably glad to have his simple job.
I’m one of those who doesn’t think there is much difference
between an atomic scientist and a man who cleans the seats
except for the luck of the draw—
parents with enough money to point you safely toward a more
generous life.

Again in reverse order, I liked this one.

inverted love song

I could scream down 90 mountains
to less than dust
if only one living human had eyes in the head
and heart in the body,
but there is no chance,
my god,
no chance.
rat with rat dog with dog hog with hog,
play the piano drunk
listen to the drunk piano,
realize the myth of mercy
stand still
as even a child’s voice snarls
and we have not been fooled,
it was only that we wanted to believe.

 -Charles Bukowski

This time it’s the the phrase “If only one living human had eyes in the head and heart in the body…”

Finally a few days ago these little five lines from his poem “people as flowers”:

I decide that the only definition of
Truth (which changes)
is that it is that thing or act or
belief which the crowd

Well it’s 8 AM now. I have to slowly prepare my heart and soul to go do church. Last night Sarah asked me if I wanted her to attend. I told only if she wanted to. She said she felt hypocritical going to church. I said fine. I told her that if it was just a matter of hearing the music I do I would want her to go but it’s the stuff in between. I am amused how people who are not religious take it so seriously though. I don’t feel or believe anything regarding Christianity deeply enough to make me feel hypocritical. I feel hypocritical when I do something dishonest or inconsistent with what I think I believe.

At any rate, I have to go over my Bohm prelude. I did tape it yesterday. I would embed it here but I’m not sure it would work with this particular URL (which is temporary and also inaccessible to anybody who doesn’t have the weird URL address Sarah has put this in).

It’s over 6 minutes. It went very well in rehearsal yesterday but I think I need to practice some little tricky parts this morning.


Mo Yan: “Bull” : The New Yorker

Online short story by recent Pulitzer Prize winner.




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