Q10

For my first post, I’ve decided to pick up one of the links from Question 10:

Charles Bukowski was born in Andernach, Germany on August 16, 1920, the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again.

He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.

Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His writing often featured a depraved metropolitan environment, downtrodden members of American society, direct language, violence, and sexual imagery, and many of his works center around a roughly autobiographical figure named Henry Chinaski. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (Black Sparrow, 1994), Screams from the Balcony: Selected Letters 1960-1970 (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992). He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.

‘For The Foxes’ by Charles Bukowski

don’t feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be  sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange  their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion  is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal  with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
“love.”

and  beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for  they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don’t  feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most  terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog  walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a  telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating  a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your  sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you  better be
nearly as
lucky.

For further information about his work: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/394

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