Bukowski, Charles:everywhere, everywhere [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 amazing, how grimly we hold onto our 2 misery, 3 ever defensive, thwarted by 4 the forces. 5 amazing, the energy we burn 6 fueling our anger. 7 amazing, how one moment we can be 8 snarling like a beast, then 9 a few moments later, 10 forgetting what or 11 why. 12 not hours of this or days or 13 months or years of this 14 but decades, 15 lifetimes 16 completely used up, 17 given over 18 to the pettiest 19 rancor and 20 hatred. 21 finally 22 there is nothing here for death to 23 take 24 away.[Page 95]Bukowski, Charles:about a trip to Spain [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 in New York in those days they had 2 a system at the track 3 where you bought a ticket 4 and tried to pick 5 winners in a row 5 and Harry took $1000 6 and went up to the window and said, 7 "1, 8, 3, 7, 5." 8 and that's the way they came in 9 and so he took his wife to Spain 10 with all that money 11 and his wife fell for the mayor of this little 12 village in Spain and fucked him 13 and the marriage was over 14 and Harry came back to Brooklyn broke 15 and mutilated 16 and he has been a little crazy ever 17 since, but 18 Harry, don't despair 19 for you are a genius 20 for who else had enough pure faith 21 and enough courage 22 to go up to the window 23 and against all the gods of logic 24 say to the man at the window: 25 "1, 8, 3, 7, 5"? 26 you did it. 27 yes, she got the mayor 28 but you're the real winner 29 forever.[Page 96]Bukowski, Charles:Van Gogh [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 vain vanilla ladies strutting 2 while Van Gogh did it to 3 himself. 4 girls pulling on silk 5 hose 6 while Van Gogh did it to 7 himself 8 in the field 9 unkissed, and 10 worse. 11 I pass him on the street: 12 "how's it going, Van?" 13 "I dunno, man," he says 14 and walks on. 15 there is a blast of color: 16 one more creature 17 dizzy with love. 18 he said, 19 then, 20 I want to leave. 21 and they look at his paintings 22 and love him 23 now. 24 for that kind of love [Page 97]25 he did the right 26 thing 27 as for the other kind of love 28 it never arrived.[Page 98]Bukowski, Charles:Vallejo [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 it is hard to find a man 2 whose poems do not 3 finally disappoint you. 4 Vallejo has never disappointed 5 me in that way. 6 some say he finally starved to 7 death. 8 however 9 his poems about the terror of being 10 alone 11 are somehow gentle and 12 do not 13 scream. 14 we are all tired of most 15 art. 16 Vallejo writes as a man 17 and not as an 18 artist. 19 he is beyond 20 our understanding. 21 I like to think of Vallejo still 22 alive 23 and walking across a 24 room, I find 25 the sound of Cesar Vallejo's 26 steadfast tread 27 imponderable.[Page 99]Bukowski, Charles:when the violets roar at the sun [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 they've got us in the cage 2 ruined of grace and senses 3 and the heart roars like a lion 4 at what they've done to us.[Page 100]Bukowski, Charles:the professionals [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 constipated writers 2 squatting over their machines 3 on hot nights 4 while their wives talk on the 5 telephone. 6 while the TV plays 7 in the background 8 they squat over their machines 9 they light cigarettes 10 and hope for fame 11 and 12 beautiful young girls 13 or at least 14 something to write 15 about. 16 "yeah, Barney, he's still at the typer. 17 I can't disturb him. 18 he's working on a series of short novels for 19 Pinnacle magazine. his central character is some 20 guy he calls 'Bugblast.' I got a sunburn 21 today. I was reading a magazine in the yard 22 and I forgot how long I was out there ..." 23 endless hot summer nights. 24 the blades of the fan tap and rattle 25 against the wire cage. 26 the air doesn't move. 27 it's hard to breathe. 28 the people out there expect miracles 29 continual miracles with 30 words. [Page 101]31 the world is full of 32 constipated writers. 33 and eager readers who need plenty of new 34 shit. 35 it's depressing.[Page 102]Bukowski, Charles:the 8 count concerto [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 the lid to the great jar 2 opens 3 and out tumbles a 4 Christ child. 5 I throw it to my cat 6 who bats it about in the 7 air 8 but he soon tires of 9 the lack of 10 response. 11 it is near the end of 12 February in a 13 so far 14 banal year. 15 not a damn good war 16 in sight anywhere. 17 I light an Italian cigar, 18 it's slim, tastes bitter. 19 I inhale the space between 20 continents, 21 stretch my legs. 22 it's moments like 23 this---you can feel it 24 happening---that you grow 25 transformed 26 partly into something 27 else strange and 28 unnameable--- 29 so when death comes 30 it can only take 31 part of 32 you. [Page 103]33 I exhale a perfect 34 smoke ring 35 as a soprano sings to me 36 through the radio. 37 each night counts for something 38 or else we'd all 39 go mad.[Page 104]Bukowski, Charles:an afternoon in February [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 many of the paperboys here in L.A. 2 are starting to grow 3 beards. 4 this makes them look suspiciously like bad 5 poets. 6 a paper container in front of me 7 says: 8 Martin Van Buren was the 8th president 9 of the U.S. from 1837 to 1841, 10 as I spill coffee on my new 11 dictionary. 12 the phone rings. 13 it is a woman who wants to talk to me. 14 can't they forget me? 15 am I that good? 16 the lady downstairs borrows a vacuum cleaner 17 from the manager and cackles her thanks. 18 her thanks drift up to me here 19 and disappear as two pigeons arrive 20 and sit on the roof in the 21 wind. vacuum is spelled very strangely, 22 I think, as I watch the 2 pigeons on the roof. 23 they sit motionless in the wind, just a few small 24 feathers on their bodies 25 lifting and falling. 26 the phone rings again. 27 "I have just about gotten over it, 28 I have just about gotten over [Page 105]29 you." 30 "thank you," I say and 31 hang up. 32 it is 2 in the afternoon 33 I have finished my coffee and had a smoke 34 and now the coffee water is boiling 35 again. there is an original painting by 36 Eric Heckel 37 on my north wall 38 but there is neither joy nor sorrow here now 39 only the paperboys 40 trying to grow beards 41 the pigeons in the wind 42 and the faint sound of the vacuum cleaner.[Page 106]Bukowski, Charles:crickets [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 sound of doom like an approaching 2 cyclone 3 the woman across the way 4 keeps scolding and 5 screaming 6 she's screaming at her child 7 now she's clearing her 8 throat 9 I lean forward 10 to get a book of matches to 11 light my 12 cigarette 13 then she screams again 14 she's beating her child 15 the child screams 16 then it's quiet 17 all I can hear are the 18 crickets 19 droning 20 planet earth: where 21 Christ came 22 and [Page 107]23 never experienced 24 sex with a 25 woman or a 26 man.[Page 108]Bukowski, Charles:the angel who pushed his wheelchair [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 long ago he edited a little magazine 2 it was up in San Francisco 3 during the beat era 4 during the reading-poetry-with-jazz experiments 5 and I remember him because he never returned my manuscripts 6 even though I wrote him many letters, 7 humble letters, sane letters, and, at last, violent letters; 8 I'm told he jumped off a roof 9 because a woman wouldn't love him. 10 no matter. when I saw him again 11 he was in a wheelchair and carried a wine bottle to piss in; 12 he wrote very delicate poetry 13 that I, naturally, couldn't understand; 14 he autographed his book for me 15 (which he said I wouldn't like) 16 and once at a party I threatened to punch him and 17 I was drunk and he wept and 18 I took pity and instead hit the next poet who walked by 19 on the head with his piss bottle; so, 20 we had an understanding after all. 21 he had this very thin and intense woman 22 pushing him about, she was his arms and legs and 23 maybe for a while 24 his heart. 25 it was almost commonplace 26 at poetry readings where he was scheduled to read 27 to see her swiftly rolling him in, 28 sometimes stopping by me, saying, 29 "I don't see how we are going to get him up on the stage!" 30 sometimes she did. often she did. [Page 109]31 then she began writing poetry, I didn't see much of it, 32 but, somehow, I was glad for her. 33 then she injured her neck while doing her yoga 34 and she went on disability, and again I was glad for her, 35 all the poets wanted to get disability insurance 36 it was better than immortality. 37 I met her in the market one day 38 in the bread section, and she held my hands and 39 trembled all over 40 and I wondered if they ever had sex 41 those two. well, they had the muse anyhow 42 and she told me she was writing poetry and articles 43 but really more poetry, she was really writing a lot, 44 and that's the last I saw of her 45 until one night somebody told me she'd o.d.'d 46 and I said, no, not her 47 and they said, yes, her. 48 it was a day or so later 49 sometime in the afternoon 50 I had to go to the Los Feliz post office 51 to mail some dirty stories to a sex mag. 52 coming back 53 outside a church 54 I saw these smiling creatures 55 so many of them smiling 56 the men with beards and long hair and wearing 57 bluejeans 58 and most of the women blonde 59 with sunken cheeks and tiny grins, 60 and I thought, ah, a wedding, 61 a nice old-fashioned wedding, 62 and then I saw him on the sidewalk 63 in his wheelchair 64 tragic yet somehow calm 65 looking greyer, a profile like a tamed hawk, [Page 110]66 and I knew it was her funeral, 67 she had really o.d.'d 68 and he did look tragic out there. 69 I do have feelings, you know. 70 maybe tonight I'll try to read his book.[Page 111]Bukowski, Charles:the circus of death [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 it's there 2 from the beginning, to the middle, to the 3 end, 4 there from light to darkness, 5 there through the wasted 6 days and nights, through 7 the wasted years, 8 the continuance 9 of moving toward death. 10 sitting with death in your lap, 11 washing death out of your ears 12 and from between your toes, 13 talking to death, living with death while 14 living through the stained walls and the flat 15 tires 16 and the changing of the guard. 17 living with death in your stockings. 18 opening the morning blinds to death, 19 the circus of death, 20 the dancing girls of death, 21 the yellow teeth of death, 22 the cobra of death, 23 the deserts of death. 24 death like a tennis ball in the mouth of 25 a dog. 26 death while eating a candlelight dinner. 27 the roses of death. 28 death like a moth. 29 death like an empty shoe. 30 death the dentist. 31 through darkness and light and [Page 112]32 laughter, 33 through the painting of a 34 masterpiece, 35 through the applause for the bowing 36 actors, 37 while taking 38 a walk through Paris, 39 by the broken-winged 40 bluebird, 41 while 42 glory 43 runs through your fingers as 44 you 45 pick up an orange. 46 through the bottom of the sky 47 divided into sections like a 48 watermelon 49 it 50 bellows 51 silently, 52 consumes names and nations, 53 squirrels, fleas, hogs, 54 dandelions, 55 grandmothers, babies, 56 statues, 57 philosophies, 58 groundhogs, 59 the bullfighter, the bull and 60 all those killers in the 61 stadium. 62 it's Plato and the murderer of a 63 child. 64 the eyes in your head. 65 your fingernails. [Page 113]66 it's amazing, amazing, amazing. 67 we're clearly at the edge. 68 it's thunder in a snail's shell. 69 it's the red mark on the black widow. 70 it's the mirror without a reflection. 71 it's the singular viewpoint. 72 it's in the fog over Corpus Christi. 73 it's in the eye of the hen. 74 it's on the back of the turtle. 75 it's moving at the sun 76 as you put your shoes on for the last 77 time 78 without 79 knowing 80 it.[Page 114]Bukowski, Charles:the man? [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 my daughter said this when she was 5: 2 HERE COMES THE MAN! 3 what? I said. what? 4 I looked all around. 5 HERE COMES THE MAN! 6 O, HERE COMES THE MAN! 7 I went to the window and 8 looked out. I checked the latch 9 on the door. 10 she came out of the kitchen 11 with a spoon and a piepan: 12 clang, clang, clang! 13 HERE COMES THE MAN! 14 HERE COMES THE MAN! 15 O, LOOK, SEE THE MAN! 16 SEE THE MAN NOW! 17 HERE COMES THE MAN! 18 she means something else, 19 I thought, and I clapped my hands in 20 rhythm and we both 21 marched around and 22 sang and 23 laughed. me 24 loudest.[Page 115]Bukowski, Charles:Christmas poem to a man in jail [from what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. (1999), The Viking Press]1 hello Bill Abbott: 2 I appreciate your passing around my books in 3 jail there, my poems and stories. 4 if I can lighten the load for some of those guys with 5 my books, fine. 6 but literature, you know, is difficult for the 7 average man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too); 8 I don't like most poetry, for example, 9 so I write mine the way I like to read it. 10 poetry does seem to be getting better, more 11 human, 12 the clearing up of the language has something to 13 do with it. (w. c. williams came along and asked 14 everybody to clear up the language) 15 then 16 I came along. 17 but writing's one thing, life's 18 another, we 19 seem to have improved the writing a bit 20 but life (ours and theirs) 21 doesn't seem to be improving very 22 much. 23 maybe if we write well enough 24 and live a little better 25 life will improve a bit 26 just out of shame. 27 maybe the artists haven't been powerful 28 enough, 29 maybe the politicians, the generals, the judges, the 30 priests, the police, the pimps, the businessmen have been too 31 strong? I don't [Page 116]32 like that thought 33 but when I look at our pale and precious artists, 34 past and present, it does seem 35 possible. 36 (people don't like it when I talk this way. 37 Chinaski, get off it, they say, 38 you're not that great. 39 but 40 hell, I'm not talking about being 41 great.) 42 what I'm saying is 43 that art hasn't improved life like it 44 should, maybe because it has been too 45 private? and despite the fact that the old poets 46 and the new poets and myself 47 all seem to have had the same or similar troubles 48 with: 49 women 50 government 51 God 52 love 53 hate 54 penury 55 slavery 56 insomnia 57 transportation 58 weather 59 wives, and so 60 forth. 61 you write me now 62 that the man in the cell next to yours 63 didn't like my punctuation 64 the placement of my commas (especially) 65 and also the way I digress 66 in order to say something precisely. 67 ah, he doesn't realize the intent [Page 117]68 which is 69 to loosen up, humanize, relax, 70 and still make as real as possible 71 the word on the page. the word should be like 72 butter or avocados or 73 steak or hot biscuits, or onion rings or 74 whatever is really 75 needed. it should be almost 76 as if you could pick up the words and 77 eat them. 78 (there is some wise-ass somewhere 79 out there 80 who will say 81 if he ever reads this: 82 "Chinaski, if I want dinner I'll go out and 83 order it!") 84 however 85 an artist can wander and still maintain 86 essential form. Dostoevsky did it. he 87 usually told 3 or 4 stories on the side 88 while telling the one in the 89 center (in his novels, that is). 90 Bach taught us how to lay one melody down on 91 top of another and another melody on top of 92 that and 93 Mahler wandered more than anybody I know 94 and I find great meaning 95 in his so-called formlessness. 96 don't let the form-and-rule boys 97 like that guy in the cell next to you 98 put one over on you. just 99 hand him a copy of Time or Newsweek 100 and he'll be 101 happy. 102 but I'm not defending my work (to you or him) 103 I'm defending my right to do it in the way [Page 118]104 that makes me feel best. 105 I always figure if a writer is bored with his work 106 the reader is going to be 107 bored too. 108 and I don't believe in 109 perfection, I believe in keeping the 110 bowels loose 111 so I've got to agree with my critics 112 when they say I write a lot of shit. 113 you're doing 19 and years 114 I've been writing about 40. 115 we all go on with our things. 116 we all go on with our lives. 117 we all write badly at times 118 or live badly at times. 119 we all have bad days 120 and nights. 121 I ought to send that guy in the cell next to yours 122 The Collected Works of Robert Browning for Christmas, 123 that'd give him the form he's looking for 124 but I need the money for the track, 125 Santa Anita is opening on the 126 26th, so give him a copy of Newsweek 127 (the dead have no future, no past, no present, 128 they just worry about commas) 129 and have I placed the commas here 130 properly, 131 Abbott? 132 ,