It is the human flaw to follow our evil inclinations inside of whatever system we create. We must learn to not self-destruct, but understand how we operate and when something that worked... no longer works... and then change.
Actually a residue of compassion exits yet in our quasi-capitalist, crony-capitalism. It is government “largess” that sucks the compassion out of a uniquely compassionate people.
The craft of this poem is very strong. How he uses parallelism to both begin and end with the wind. Also, what strikes me... besides how cold the wind is... is how he is not on the actual row, but thinking of the people on the row and then exemplifying his opinion by the thought of their suffering, which is real... and then the poem ends with the wind, which is connected to us all.
I grew up in 1980's NYC and spent much time on the row and in the parks and in the tents and boxes of those who were... outside this system... locked out.. I also spent 12 years being a writer in the schools trying to give poems to underserved youth in neighborhoods that were more like storage units than housing... saying, at least, at least I can give you this...
Charles Bukowski was a derelict by choice, a derelict so he could write exclusively with minimal restraints. As you know, he would work 'shit jobs' for a month, two, until he couldn't take it anymore, and then take that money and parlay it into three months of freedom to write all he wanted and could in a dirty room in a three story walk-up. He wrote beautifully of the derelict lifestyle and other derelicts. At least the derelicts of the 1950s, 60s,had slums full of derelict buildings where these, mostly men, could escape from the pain of normalcy into stoned inactivity. John Martin started Sparrow Press just to save Buk's writing for posterity. (I wish I had a John Martin.) Bukowski became a part of the game, comfortable, especially after the money from Bar Fly. Then his writing (in this writer's opinion) slipped. I'm not a critic. Maybe it was the change in subject matter.
Tonight when I have that shot of whiskey, just one, in front of the TV, to mark the descent into my night time, I will offer it to Buk. Yeah, you had your moment in the sun, and you earned it, buddy. A lot of us out here will never get that.
I was in an area like that once. A person had two shopping carts, one turned upside down and fixed to make a wire box. I guess to keep his personal things in.
The overwhelming lack of compassion in our capitalistic worldview is heartbreaking. May I not be numbed by it. Action is required.
It is the human flaw to follow our evil inclinations inside of whatever system we create. We must learn to not self-destruct, but understand how we operate and when something that worked... no longer works... and then change.
Actually a residue of compassion exits yet in our quasi-capitalist, crony-capitalism. It is government “largess” that sucks the compassion out of a uniquely compassionate people.
Perhaps the brutality of the cold is a reboot of our awareness about how we manage our own personal storms.
I like that interpretation!
The craft of this poem is very strong. How he uses parallelism to both begin and end with the wind. Also, what strikes me... besides how cold the wind is... is how he is not on the actual row, but thinking of the people on the row and then exemplifying his opinion by the thought of their suffering, which is real... and then the poem ends with the wind, which is connected to us all.
I grew up in 1980's NYC and spent much time on the row and in the parks and in the tents and boxes of those who were... outside this system... locked out.. I also spent 12 years being a writer in the schools trying to give poems to underserved youth in neighborhoods that were more like storage units than housing... saying, at least, at least I can give you this...
Human nature remains depressingly the same through centuries. And cold is just as cold.
I think our most common flaw is that we think we are beyond being human and that we are somehow past history. We must know ourselves.
Not now, my show is on
No one does the brutality of humanity like Bukowski.
The darelict walks away from the row weaving in and out of trashcans and alleys.
Kicking the lingering reminders of felled dreams to the side clearing a path.
As I, the shadow of his regret try to catch him.
Or blanket another.
Hell yah, it is a hard cold wind and getting colder.
until spring comes.
Charles Bukowski was a derelict by choice, a derelict so he could write exclusively with minimal restraints. As you know, he would work 'shit jobs' for a month, two, until he couldn't take it anymore, and then take that money and parlay it into three months of freedom to write all he wanted and could in a dirty room in a three story walk-up. He wrote beautifully of the derelict lifestyle and other derelicts. At least the derelicts of the 1950s, 60s,had slums full of derelict buildings where these, mostly men, could escape from the pain of normalcy into stoned inactivity. John Martin started Sparrow Press just to save Buk's writing for posterity. (I wish I had a John Martin.) Bukowski became a part of the game, comfortable, especially after the money from Bar Fly. Then his writing (in this writer's opinion) slipped. I'm not a critic. Maybe it was the change in subject matter.
Tonight when I have that shot of whiskey, just one, in front of the TV, to mark the descent into my night time, I will offer it to Buk. Yeah, you had your moment in the sun, and you earned it, buddy. A lot of us out here will never get that.
Rest in peace.
Bukowski lives!
Another example of why the only poet I listen to is Bukowski.
Truer words, CB, unfortunately a sign of our current times.
I was in an area like that once. A person had two shopping carts, one turned upside down and fixed to make a wire box. I guess to keep his personal things in.
That was my life in 1980's NYC.
Cold wind indeed
Bukowski had his figure on the pulse of society. It's sad that things will never change
simple and relatable
thank you for sharing this insight
I turn to an Auschwitz survivor for wisdom in dealing with this crisis. NEVER AGAIN we proclaim!