Sept 22, 2008

OK so here’s the deal: We’re running poems by all the guessed authors from
last week’s game (tip of the cap to D-Go), with the understanding that the
guessers will jump in when a poem by their guess is in play. Not so much to
defend their choice, as to comment a little on the pome, or style, or what
they know about the author. This also means we get to hear from Ms.
McCormick thrice, bwa ha ha ha HAAAH…
So in this case, I really know almost nothing about Charles Bukowksi as a
poet. Weirdly, after never thinking much of him as a writer, I ran into a
used copy of “Women” this summer, and was totally engrossed for 3 days. I
think I understand more about self-loathing than I did as a 25-year-old.
Anyhoo, for a short intro, readers might wanna check out this little
commentary (maybe 5 pages) on his status vis-a-vis other more canonical or
critically esteemed poets of his era:

http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2005/03/14/050314crbo_books

***






SOME PEOPLE



some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they’ll find me there.
it’s Cherub, they’ll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
then, I’ll rise with a roar,
rant, rage –
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
lawn.
I’ll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
pink
overfed whale.

some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.

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