San Fransisco Peaks — Computer Painting by kenne
Driving south
near the edge
of the Navaho Nation,
snow-capped peaks
forming snow lines
in deep fissures —
I muse on
Bukowski:
“as the
spirit
wanes
the form appears.”
— kenne
Archive for the ‘Charles Bukowski’ Tag
San Fransisco Peaks 1 comment
Restroom Wall 1 comment
Men’s Restroom Wall — Image by kenne
“Nothing is worse than to finish a good shit,
then reach over and find the toilet paper container empty.
Even the most horrible human being on earth
deserves to wipe his ass.”
— Charles Bukowski
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Bourbon on the Rocks 2 comments
Kenne philosophizing on becoming the next president of the Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalists (SCVN),
after returning from visiting friends and family in east Texas.
no leaders, please
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself
don’t swim in the same slough.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself
and
stay out of the clutches of mediocrity.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
change your tone and shape so often that they can
never
categorize you.
reinvigorate yourself and
accept what is
but only on the terms that you have invented
and reinvented.
be self-taught.
and reinvent your life because you must;
it is your life and
its history
and the present
belong only to
you.
— Charles Bukowski
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Cactus Picnic Area & “Poetry” Leave a comment
Road to the Cactus Picnic Area In Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
poetry
by Charles Bukowski
it
takes
a lot of
desperation
dissatisfaction
and
disillusion
to
write
a
few
good
poems.
it’s not
for
everyone
either to
write
it
or even to
read
it.
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Añejo Like Fine Tequila Leave a comment
Computer Art by kenne
I stared hard. . .
by Tony Mares
thinking of Charles Bukowski
I stared hard at the hard-edges painting
it was the sharp translucent line
meant to be a glimpse at a micro-mini
segment of the lace trim on a skirt
wrapped around the gorgeous curves
of a women longing for me
but inaccessible of the canvas
at least I could imagine her
That’s when I ordered my third tequila
drank it straight like #s 1 & 2
every woman at the bar glowed
more beautiful than the ladies
on a French postcard and shed
ten years just like that too bad
I am more aged than tequila añejo
not that hard or sharp anymore
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A Morning Distraction — “If It Doesn’t Taste Good, Put Ice In It!” 1 comment
(First posted July 27, 2010)
While reading the poetry of Writers in Performance Series presenters this morning, I became distracted by an email message from the Tom Russell@yahoogroups.com Re: A Cover Song Request in Memory of Warren Zevon. Russell seems to have great respect for 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. “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
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Sharing The Moment — Statue Of Death In The Desert Leave a comment
“Statue of Death” — Image by kenne
All time is created equal,
but we don’t use it equally.
Some are livin’ on Tulsa time,
while others in a New York minute.
My time is your time,
but it is not mine to give.
You can’t give away
something that isn’t yours.
…unless you share the moment.
— kenne
“some moments are nice,
some are nicer,
some are even worth
writing about.”
― Charles Bukowski, War All the Time
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Charles Bukowski — to lean back into it 3 comments
Charles Bukowski — Image 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
irreplaceable.
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.
by Charles Bukowski, from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (Black Sparrow Press)
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- Call for Submissions: Haikus or Tweets About Charles Bukowski (silverbirchpress.wordpress.com)
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Charles Bukowski: A Bio Poem 5 comments
Photo-Artistry by kenne
Charles Bukowski: A Bio Poem
yes,
there was a
Charles Bukowski
sad eyes
weary voice
a poet-recluse
writing about
down and outs
skid row
alcohol
relationships with women
German American
raised catholic
abused
shy, alienated
teenage acne
desperate days of the
great depression
attended
Los Angeles City College
art,
journalism
literature
flirted with the far-right
grew bored
failed a physical and
psychological exam
classified 4-f
“on a Santa Monica Monday.”
first story
published at 24
grew disillusioned
quit writing
“on the sidewalk and in the sun”
ten-year drunk
bleeding ulcer
nearly died
begin writing poetry
first wife
small-town Texas poet
decapitated in India
religious zealots
obscure cult
traumatized by wife’s death
resulting in a powerful series of poems
“I hold fast to me, that’s all there is”
series of muses
a daughter
ten years with post office
wrote a column
“notes of a dirty old man”
quit the post office
decided to starve
full-time writer
a loner
unable to live alone
“because I’ve got
a pocket full of dreams….”
— kenne
Charles Bukowski in Ham On Rye writes of Henry Chinaski, his raw voice alter ego having a beer with Becker:
“. . . I’d like to be a correspondent in Washington, D.C. I’d like to be where big things are happening.”
“Washington’s crap, Becker.”
“And women? Marriage? Children?”
“Crap.”
“Yeah? Well, what do you want?”
“To hide.”
“You poor fuck. You need another beer.”
“All right.”
The beer arrived.
Source: Booktryst
“The difference between life and art is art is more bearable.”
– Charles Bukowski
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- “Notes from a Dirty Old Man”: Charles Bukowski’s Lost Cartoons from the 60s and 70s (openculture.com)
- Charles Bukowski Manuscripts Online (mediabistro.com)
- Charles Bukowski: Don’t Waste Your Life (99u.com)
- so you want to be a writer? poem by Charles Bukowski (silverbirchpress.wordpress.com)
- Listen to Charles Bukowski Poems Being Read by Bukowski, Tom Waits and Bono (openculture.com)
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It’s A Crazy World Out There! Leave a comment
Image by kenne
“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
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Video of The Week — “Roll The Dice” 3 comments
If you’re going to try, go all the way . . .
I need a dose of Bukowski now and then.
kenne
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The Cat’s “To Lean Back Into It” In The Well 1 comment
” Funny ” about memory and sometimes LOSS OF IT !! I have spent the last two plus hours searching for this poem because I had forgotten the title. It is not listed of his poems on line.
Finally, I remembered that I first came across it in Garrison Keillor’s WRITERS ALMANAC.
I thought of Bukowski because of the anniversary of that ABSOLUTELY overated Neal Cassidy and his death on this date in 1968 at age 41.
Bukowski…a titan! Neal…a mere shadow!
I really like the poem.
t. (the cat)
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.
Poem: “to lean back into it,” by Charles Bukowski, from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (Black Sparrow Press).
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Charles Bukowski, Today 1 comment
Ok, he didn’t need to remind me, but he did;
brother Tom, that is.
He sent an email telling me that today
is the anniversary of
the death of writer Charles Bukowski –
we share an appreciation for
this great American poet.
Tom, you’ve taught me well, I know that!
But, in honor of his persistence and redundancy,
I share Tom’s favorite Bukowski poem:
“to lean back into it,” by Charles Bukowski, from
what matters most is how well you walk through the fire
(Black Sparrow Press).
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.
. . .even though the fire keeps getting hotter, keep walking!
— kenne
