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Late night Youtube finds: Charles Bukowski's last poetry reading
Posted on 9/25/20 at 11:48 pm
Posted on 9/25/20 at 11:48 pm
quote:
LIVE in Redondo Beach California March 31, 1980 Bukowski taunts his audience reads his work and drinks red wine from a glass while he smokes teeny tiny cigarettes hand-rolled by...i will let Buk tell you who by in the Poet's last reading to a live audience. At 11:45 Hank sums it all up for posterity and for the relevant now baby.
LINK
Posted on 9/25/20 at 11:50 pm to Jim Rockford
Haven't watched this yet, but what's everybody's favorite Bukowski novel? I'm going Post Office.
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:03 am to Jim Rockford
I like Hank Chinaski much, much better.
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:05 am to Jim Rockford
What is this gay poetry shite?
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:07 am to WaltTeevens
Women
Favorite poem: "The History of One Tough Mother fricker"
Or
"So You Want to be a Writer?"
Favorite poem: "The History of One Tough Mother fricker"
Or
"So You Want to be a Writer?"
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:10 am to LegendInMyMind
The History of One Tough Motherfricker
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off…"
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left…
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows…
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshite but that somehow it all helps.
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off…"
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left…
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows…
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshite but that somehow it all helps.
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:12 am to Jim Rockford
You got a thigh tat, Jim?
Posted on 9/26/20 at 12:15 am to Sun God
Spent my last disability check on the neck tat
Posted on 9/26/20 at 7:27 am to eng08
Thought this was about John Bluto Blutarsky.
“Christ. Seven years of college down the drain. Might as well join the f**king Peace Corps.”
“Christ. Seven years of college down the drain. Might as well join the f**king Peace Corps.”
Posted on 9/26/20 at 9:49 am to Jim Rockford
love is a horse with a broken
leg
trying to stand
while 45,000 people
watch
—Charles Bukowski
leg
trying to stand
while 45,000 people
watch
—Charles Bukowski
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