BASED ON

bukowski_burning_in_Water_drowning_in_flame

‘in the madhouse a man kisses the walls

and dreams of sailboating down some

cool Nile’

I have this book open at page 93.

I don’t know why.

It could have been another page

even another book.

if it belongs here

IN YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS (you fool)

should you consider

finding a knife

and begin carving the letters

of the thing of tomorrow

on that table in front of you

we are all arms around the world

and we share the flesh

and it’s going to be hard to explain

why bukowski decided to write

‘the dark is empty;

most of our heroes have been

wrong’

it is opposite of the page: part II

of his book Burning in Water

Drowning in Flame

was he dissatisfied with the idols

that humanity has been able to cough up so far

was he frustrated with the incomplete answers

that savants have left after more than

2500 years

we are left in the dark

as to the reason he decided to title

part 3 of that book:

At Terror Street
and Agony Way

imagine writing

‘it was a splendid way in Spring

and outside we could hear the birds

that hadn’t been killed

by the smog’

as a subtitle to your third chapter

was he implying

that it’s a miracle

that the morning is not stained

with our mumbling

that the evening is not polluted

with our parades

 

the last page

the last three lines

state unequivocally

I will never understand men

but I have lived

it through

 

AND I UNDERSTAND HIM

BECAUSE HE NOW SLEEPS

LIKE PLASMA IN A

CLOUD OF  MEMORY.

ANTIPoetry

a chinese dream

reading_bukowski

It’s 3:10
AM
I’m sober
reading Bukowski
still recovering
from my 48 hour
birthday binge,
the universe is still
a made-up word
for this bathroom
and the filling air,
yet I wish
I’d be reading
the great Chinese
poets
soaring over improbable
landscapes
lifting my veil of ignorance
seeing through the deceits of
Maya
untroubled by the vicissitudes
of time
at one with the universe
which is to say
inseparably and eternally here
with this white-tiled bathroom
and the air
that encircles me,
in drowning
invisible
swirls.

 

nihilistic poetry

the right bar

bukowski beer

The poem
was about my impressions
on a night walk at a snowy city
I thought about the name of the poem
and considered this title:
“ the disjointed impressions of a night
walk in the city”
not only alluring
but also clarifying
so that the disjointed pieces
of impressions
would be recognized
as such.

After a few lines like:
The city full
of virgin space
or
walking mechanisms

I stopped writing impressions
in a highly poetic manner
and had one quick
0.5 L
beer at one ‘happening’ bar
the beer was slurped
five minutes later
I was out and walking
looking for the next bar

I referred to the quick beer
as “having a ‘Bukowski’ beer”
when my wife rang and asked about
my whereabouts, she was
surprised when I called
her back less than 2 minutes
later and told her I was
out looking for the next bar
and we should meet up
in the new one
which I efficiently found
moments later after I hung
up
up Oranienstrasse
covered in pink fur;
I unhesitatingly asked for
a beer – which the bartender
quickly brought –
in contrast to the other place
where the bartender
shrugged her shoulders
and pointed to the menu
with a long list of local and imported beer
brands.

Just a beer – if they
bring it right away
you know
you’re in the
right bar.

nihilistic poetry

Chronology

I was reading a poem by Bukowski

       It is called “jam”

I read a few lines, pondered

        watched outside the window

then resumed reading, while I was still

     light-blind

suddenly, a tiny speck on the page

       moved

it was green, it was alive

as my vision came to normal

I could see the insect

– wasn’t sure which kind –

the little one walked on the page

stepping over an “s” first

then a “w” but turned back

then came down to the word

      “same”

and headed to the edge of the page. 

I finished the poem, and thought to myself:

 

“This Bukowski is really good” 

 It was the first “Buck” poem

I ever read.