Also, I have to say, Bukowski is hailed for many reasons, but one thing that I think goes unsung is that he is one of the few writers that really sees what our society does to men, I mean, men per se. Flophouse is a prime example. In thinking about it with any larger perspective, this is a horror show for a certain class of men who have simply been discarded like so much trash. Yes, it's gendered, it is an absence of care, of valuing. Homelessness, suicidality, addiction, crime, mental illness, deaths of despair, you name it, by a large margin disproportionately men. The total absence of hope. Those men were all children once.
Somehow he gets away with lines of a no more than 2 words. That's hard to do. And it seems to make the reading all the more visceral, a real punch to the gut.
He might have been describing the #2 train racing downtown this evening. The men and women, broken and stained, “were children once,” somebody’s baby. Nothing left for them to do but die.
He**. I just read that Bukowski is a “cartoon” poet. While I favor his letters and prose, if Bukowski isn’t a bonafide poet, Gertrude Stein is 86’d too.
That means our Barfly is a stunning wordsmith.
I leave you with just one quote from a letter.
“Today I will be quiet and in love with park benches.”
I slept in three men's homeless shelters, in Kansas City for three nights, in Birmingham for two weeks, in Key West for several months. Homeless shelters probably are somewhat easier to tolerate than what used to be called a flop house, but much of what Bukowski described is the same, including the personal sense of hopelessness and inevitable doom, absent something unforeseen intervening. I slept many more nights on the ground, outside, on Maui and in Key West. Months and months, into years, I slept on the ground, outside, and about six months in the front lobby of the Key West police station, after the local homeless shelter banned me for life, because of what I wrote about the shelter and homeless people on my blog, where I posted something new every day. I wrote non-fiction, poetry and stranger than fiction during the homeless time. I wrote a novel, HEAVY WAIT: A Strange Tale, about a trial lawyer two women and God got ahold of and turned him upside down and inside out and every which a way but loose - and one of the women, too. That novel now can be read for free at an internet library called archive.org. As can several of my other books, written before and after the homeless time, including my first novel, Kundalina Alabama. Stranger than fiction probably sums up most of my writings and my life starting early 1987, when I had my first encounter with supernatural beings. The homeless era was 2000-2005, and 2016-2018. The two constants were writing and being all the way in this world and not of it at the same time.
Yea, raw and real. Why is it the men’s dorms in college smelled awful from the moment you walked in the building? Yes, my uni had single sex dorms. The men’s rooms, even worse! 🤢
So raw and real. The world needs the ugly to written about beautifully; not always and not by everyone but it needs to be written.
https://tumbleweedwords.substack.com/p/kicks-poem
Hank saw the poetry in it all :)
Also, I have to say, Bukowski is hailed for many reasons, but one thing that I think goes unsung is that he is one of the few writers that really sees what our society does to men, I mean, men per se. Flophouse is a prime example. In thinking about it with any larger perspective, this is a horror show for a certain class of men who have simply been discarded like so much trash. Yes, it's gendered, it is an absence of care, of valuing. Homelessness, suicidality, addiction, crime, mental illness, deaths of despair, you name it, by a large margin disproportionately men. The total absence of hope. Those men were all children once.
Such a romantic wasn’t he?😉😂
Somehow he gets away with lines of a no more than 2 words. That's hard to do. And it seems to make the reading all the more visceral, a real punch to the gut.
He might have been describing the #2 train racing downtown this evening. The men and women, broken and stained, “were children once,” somebody’s baby. Nothing left for them to do but die.
Wow. Runs me over. One realizes they are better off than there. Even with all my lousy symptoms.
https://tumbleweedwords.substack.com/p/kicks-poem
Hank saw the poetry in it all :)
“I am a poem. There is no way out…”
He**. I just read that Bukowski is a “cartoon” poet. While I favor his letters and prose, if Bukowski isn’t a bonafide poet, Gertrude Stein is 86’d too.
That means our Barfly is a stunning wordsmith.
I leave you with just one quote from a letter.
“Today I will be quiet and in love with park benches.”
Why so many homeless people prefer the street.
I slept in three men's homeless shelters, in Kansas City for three nights, in Birmingham for two weeks, in Key West for several months. Homeless shelters probably are somewhat easier to tolerate than what used to be called a flop house, but much of what Bukowski described is the same, including the personal sense of hopelessness and inevitable doom, absent something unforeseen intervening. I slept many more nights on the ground, outside, on Maui and in Key West. Months and months, into years, I slept on the ground, outside, and about six months in the front lobby of the Key West police station, after the local homeless shelter banned me for life, because of what I wrote about the shelter and homeless people on my blog, where I posted something new every day. I wrote non-fiction, poetry and stranger than fiction during the homeless time. I wrote a novel, HEAVY WAIT: A Strange Tale, about a trial lawyer two women and God got ahold of and turned him upside down and inside out and every which a way but loose - and one of the women, too. That novel now can be read for free at an internet library called archive.org. As can several of my other books, written before and after the homeless time, including my first novel, Kundalina Alabama. Stranger than fiction probably sums up most of my writings and my life starting early 1987, when I had my first encounter with supernatural beings. The homeless era was 2000-2005, and 2016-2018. The two constants were writing and being all the way in this world and not of it at the same time.
Oof. Really makes one feel gracious.
Slice of life.
Chilling. Thank you.
This is too deep dark and real, love it. There is a concocted intermixing of sweat, bodies and just existence.
Attaching my recent writeups..
https://kallolpoetry.substack.com/p/her-curves-made-me-melt
Yea, raw and real. Why is it the men’s dorms in college smelled awful from the moment you walked in the building? Yes, my uni had single sex dorms. The men’s rooms, even worse! 🤢
Thank you