Thursday, 2 April 2015

Sitting in bed with Charles Bukowski

This is the life....a conversation on Facebook about my totally unforeseen troubles with Cid Corman has led to me putting him back on the shelf with a light heart.

I'm writing all over these pages, marking stresses and repetitions. Putting anything I think of in the big spaces his poetry has handily offered me. The lines are short and the pages are wide.

the sounds of his doing

the sun is sun enough

it is a giant disrobing of
care, stumbling away from

the streets
flat on their Spring backs
and smiling.

- grass

I like the conversational tone, the bitchiness, the brutal and simple lines. So tight.

I mean the man he killed
clubbed him first
from behind
with an anchor chain
(something about a woman)

- something about a woman

Why do I enjoy the harshness of Western life being put into words? Because it is true? There must be some tender poems and writing on my shelf. Do another post about that. It goes under the radar here because it is so counter-cultural to be kind or tender. I will try. I must have written some myself.

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