Archive for the ‘Charles Bukowski’ Category

Broad-banded Swallowtail Visit Lemon Plant   2 comments

This Morning a Broad-banded Swallowtail Visited Our Potted Lemon Plant on the Patio — Images by kenne

Arizona Gray Squirrel   2 comments

Arizona Gray Squirrel On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne

“the squirs came to my house.”
“they did?”
“yes.”
“squirrels?”
“squirs!”
“were there many of them?”

“many of them.”
“what happened?”
“they talked to me.”
“they did?”
“yes, they talked to me.”
“what did they say?”
“they asked me if I wanted . . .”
“what did they say?”
“they asked me if I wanted a fix.”
“what? what did you say?”
“I said — ‘they asked me if I wanted a fix.’ “
“and what did you say?”
“I said, ‘no.’
“and what did the squirs say?”
“they said, ‘WELL, ALL RIGHT!’ “

— from notes of a dirty old man by Charles Bukowski

Another Existential Moment — Charles Bukowski   Leave a comment

Charles Bukowski

Tom Russell has great respect for Warren Zevon’s work, but probably none more than “Carmelita,” which he combines
with Charles Bukowski’s, “Crucifix In A Deathhand,” on his Modern Art CD. By putting the two together, Russell
demonstrates his appreciation and understanding of Bukowski’s words and the lyrics of Warren Zevon. It just so happens
that “Crucifix In A Deathhand” is my favorite Bukowski poem.

Crucifix In a Death Hand

yes, they begin out in a willow, I think
the starch mountains begin out in the willow
and keep right on going without regard for
pumas and nectarines
somehow these mountains are like
an old woman with a bad memory and
a shopping basket.
we are in a basin. that is the
idea. down in the sand and the alleys,
this land punched-in, cuffed-out, divided,
held like a crucifix in a deathhand,
this land bought, resold, bought again and
sold again, the wars long over,
the Spaniards all the way back in Spain
down in the thimble again, and now
real estaters, subdividers, landlords, freeway
engineers arguing. this is their land and
I walk on it, live on it a little while
near Hollywood here I see young men in rooms
listening to glazed recordings
and I think too of old men sick of music
sick of everything, and death like suicide
I think is sometimes voluntary, and to get your
hold on the land here it is best to return to the
Grand Central Market, see the old Mexican women,
the poor . . . I am sure you have seen these same women
many years before
arguing
with the same young Japanese clerks
witty, knowledgeable and golden
among their soaring store of oranges, apples
avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers –
and you know how
these look, they do look good
as if you could eat them all
light a cigar and smoke away the bad world.
then it’s best to go back to the bars, the same bars
wooden, stale, merciless, green
with the young policeman walking through
scared and looking for trouble,
and the beer is still bad
it has an edge that already mixes with vomit and
decay, and you’ve got to be strong in the shadows
to ignore it, to ignore the poor and to ignore yourself
and the shopping bag between your legs
down there feeling good with its avocados and
oranges and fresh fish and wine bottles, who needs
a Fort Lauderdale winter?
25 years ago there used to be a whore there
with a film over one eye, who was too fat
and made little silver bells out of cigarette
tinfoil. the sun seemed warmer then
although this was probably not
true, and you take your shopping bag
outside and walk along the street
and the green beer hangs there
just above your stomach like
a short and shameful shawl, and
you look around and no longer
see any
old men.

– – Charles Bukowski (Source: Oldpoetry.com)

There’s a video on YouTube of Russell in a live performance talking and singing about Charles Bukowski, Warren Zevon, and Dave Van Ronk that will give you a better feel for this morning distraction.

— kenne

To Lean Back Into It   Leave a comment

Director-Edit-1-art-72Photo-Artistry by kenne

to lean back into it

like in a chair the color of the sun
as you listen to lazy piano music
and the aircraft overhead are not
at war.
where the last drink is as good as
the first
and you realize that the promises
you made yourself were
kept.
that’s plenty.
that last: about the promises:
what’s not so good is that the few
friends you had are
dead and they seem
irreplacable.
as for women, you didn’t know enough
early enough
and you knew enough
too late.
and if more self-analysis is allowed: it’s
nice that you turned out well-
honed,
that you arrived late
and remained generally
capable.
outside of that, not much to say
except you can leave without
regret.
until then, a bit more amusement,
a bit more endurance,
leaning back
into it.
like the dog who got across
the busy street:
not all of it was good
luck.

– Charles Bukowski

We Have Everything And We Have Nothing   Leave a comment

kenne (1 of 1)-3-Edit-art-72Self-portrait (Photo-Artistry)

I’m now in my 16th year of retirement. Still, like a lot of retired people, I stay very busy, working as a volunteer naturalist in Sabino Canyon, where we teach children about nature, leading nature walks and hikes on the many trails in Sabino Canyon. When I’m not volunteering, I spend my time doing creative things, usually after morning conditioning activities.

Over the years, I have created an extensive iTunes library of music and recorded poetry and psychology. This morning while walking in the neighborhood, I had my iTunes library on shuffle, and two of my non-music recordings of authors came on; Charles Bukowski, “Something for the Touts, the Nuns, the Grocery Clerks and You” and Alan Watts lecture titled “Insides and Outsides.” It was spiritual.

Alan Watts — Insides and Outsides (audio)

Charles Bukowski Video

We have everything, and we have nothing
Some do it well enough for a while and then give way
Fame gets them or disgust or age or lack of proper diet or ink across the eyes or children in college
Or new cars or broken backs while skiing in Switzerland
Or new politics or new wives
Or just natural change and decay —
The man you knew yesterday hooking for ten rounds or drinking for three days and three nights by the Sawtooth mountains now
just something under a sheet or a cross, or a stone, or under an easy delusion
Or packing a bible or a golf bag or a briefcase
How they go, how they go!
All the ones you thought would never go
Days like this, like your day today
Maybe the rain on the window trying to get through to you
What do you see today?
What is it? Where are you?
The best days are sometimes the first, sometimes the middle, and even sometimes the last.
The vacant lots are not bad
Churches in Europe on postcards are not bad?
People in wax museums frozen into their best sterility are not bad?
Horrible, but not bad?
The cannons, think of the cannon
And toast for breakfast and coffee hot enough to know your tongue is still there
Three geraniums outside a window, trying to be red and trying to be pink and trying to be geraniums
No wonder sometimes the women cry
No wonder the mules don’t wanna go up the hill.
One more good day, a little bit of it
Enough and not enough

Arcs and pilgrims, oranges, gutters, ferns, antibodies, boxes of
tissue paper
In the most decent sometimes sun
There is the softsmoke feeling from urns
And the canned sound of old battleplanes
And if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge, you’ll find dirt, maybe even earth
And if you look out the window, there will be the day
And as you get older you’ll keep looking, keep looking
Sucking your tongue in a little
Ah, ah, no, no, maybe

We have everything, and we have nothing.

— Charles Bukowski

Ala Videon Watts and Charles Bukowski Video

Beware   2 comments

Raven-0470-art-2-72.jpgRaven — Photo-Artistry by kenne

. . . beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect . . .

— from The Genious of the Crowd by Charles Bukowski

“As for women . . .”   Leave a comment

Joy Makeup-2-Edit-2-art-72-2“As for women . . .” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I have always had a fondness for the gritty-romanticism of Charles Bukowski’s work. 

to lean back into it

like in a chair the color of the sun
as you listen to lazy piano music
and the aircraft overhead are not
at war.
where the last drink is as good as 
the first
and you realize that the promises 
you made yourself were
kept.
that’s plenty.
that last: about the promises:
what’s not so good is that the few
friends you had are
dead and they seem
irreplacable.
as for women, you didn’t know enough
early enough
and you knew enough
too late.
and if more self-analysis is allowed: it’s 
nice that you turned out well-
honed,
that you arrived late
and remained generally 
capable.
outside of that, not much to say
except you can leave without 
regret.
until then, a bit more amusement,
a bit more endurance,
leaning back 
into it.
like the dog who got across
the busy street:
not all of it was good
luck

— Charles Bukowski, from  “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire” 

Charles Bukowski — The Genius of the Crowd   2 comments

Charles_Bukowski_Grunge Art blogCharles Bukowski — Grunge Art by kenne

The Genius Of The Crowd – Poem by Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

Your Life is Your Life   3 comments

Thurber cinquefoil & bee(1 of 1)-3 blogFlower & Bee Art — Computer Art by kenne

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you. 

— Charles Bukowski

Old Cars In The Desert   Leave a comment

Christmas 2012

Old Cars In The Desert — Art by kenne

“the way to create art is to burn and destroy
ordinary concepts and to substitute them
with new truths that run down from the top of the head”

— Charles Bukowski

 

The Raven Calls   3 comments

Rust5 & Raven Grunge Art blog

The Raven Calls — Grunge Composition by kenne

let me tell you

hell is built
piece by piece
brick by brick
around
you.
it’s a gradual,
not a rapid
process.

we build our
own
inferno,
blame
others.

but hell is
hell.

wordly hell is
hell.

my hell and
your
hell.

our
hell.

hell, hell,
hell.

the song of
hell.

putting your
shoes on
in the
morning,
hell.

— Charles Bukowski

Raven Calling In The Storm (1 of 1) grunge art blogGrunge Composition by kenne

Giving it the good fight.   Leave a comment

Joy@45Sawmill I Photoshop Artistry blog“I Am Woman” — Computer Art by kenne

“If you’re going to try, go all the way.
Otherwise, don’t even start.
This could mean losing girlfriends, wives,
relatives and maybe even your mind.

It could mean not eating for three or four days.
It could mean freezing on a park bench.
It could mean jail.
It could mean derision.

It could mean mockery–isolation.
Isolation is the gift.
All the others are a test of your endurance,
of how much you really want to do it.

And, you’ll do it,
despite rejection and the worst odds.
And it will be better than anything else
you can imagine.

If you’re going to try, go all the way.
There is no other feeling like that.
You will be alone with the gods,
and the nights will flame with fire.

You will ride life straight to perfect laughter.
It’s the only good fight there is.”

— Charles Bukowski, Factotum

 

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