Remembering A Great Poet



Charles Bukowski, American Poet

He had a ravaged face, a face which expressed all that words could not. It was a face that spoke of pain, of difficulty, but never once of defeat. Charles "Hank" Bukowski was a great poet, a national treasure, more to be treasured perhaps than most other poets I can think of, because he took the fist in the chin, the elbow to the gut, and he smiled through all the pain, kept writing, kept trying, never once gave up or in. I loved him, though I never met him. His words offer me something other writers never give me--honesty, real simple, true honesty.

A man of wild temperament, a Depression-era hoodlum with bad skin, a beautiful soul with a depth and a gentleness that his eyes did not always show. Fueled by alcohol and women, he said his writing was the "residue" after the experiences themselves, and oh what sublime residue.

Bukowski, for all you left behind in your words, thank you. For never giving up or giving in, thank you. For sharing your truth--sometimes ugly, sometimes beautiful, sometimes too harsh to read--thank you.

And for getting me through this past week of food poisoning, you were my sole companion in those long afternoons, I love you.

Here's to you, Hank!

Bluebird

by Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?