(no subject)
a threat to my immortality
she undressed in front of me
keeping her pussy to the front
while I layed in bed with a bottle of
beer.
where’d you get that wart on
your ass? I asked.
that’s no wart, she said,
that’s a mole, a kind of
birthmark.
that thing scares me, I said
let’s call
it off.
I got out of bed and
walked into the other room and
sat on the rocker
and rocked.
she walked out. now, listen, you
old fart, you’ve got warts and scars and
all kinds of things all over
you. I do believe you’re the ugliest
old man
I’ve ever seen.
forget that, I said, tell me some more
about that
mole on your butt.
she walked into the other room
and got dressed and then ran past me
slammed the door
and was
gone.
and to think ,
she’d read all my books of
poetry too.
I just hoped she wouldn’t tell
anybody that
I wasn’t pretty.
Bukowski specializes in a distinct style of realism and offers the reader small glimpses into his world of booze and broads. His language is frank and often offensive to the ‘pc’ reader. They reflect a time and a language. Melancholy permeates most of his work. I take as an example a poem entitled ‘a threat to my immortality’. There are no fancy devices, beautiful language, aesthetic structures, or extravagant designs of any kind. The language does however coincide with the subject matter at hand. An ugly experience with a cheap date in a dirty room that probably smells like beer and sex. The poem is essentially about a wart on a woman’s ass the poet recognizes just before the act of sex, there is no beauty in that. He cannot get over this physical affliction and criticizes her for it, despite his own age and ugliness. He seeks perfection, or at least a welcoming physique from his partner probably because of his own insecurity and ugliness. He experiences beauty like a leech or parasite. He doesn’t find his host appealing anymore once he recognizes her flaw. He realizes at the end of the poem that she has read all of his poetry, his one noteworthy contribution to the world and realizes his image may be tainted. He is ugly in this life but his work will live on as a thing of beauty. Bukowski knows he is ugly and repeats it endlessly in his body of work, it seems almost juvenile when he says,
I just hoped she wouldn’t tell
anybody that
I wasn’t pretty.
These words have poetic validity because they emote feelings of despair and insecurity. Regardless of form, we read poetry to feel.
she undressed in front of me
keeping her pussy to the front
while I layed in bed with a bottle of
beer.
where’d you get that wart on
your ass? I asked.
that’s no wart, she said,
that’s a mole, a kind of
birthmark.
that thing scares me, I said
let’s call
it off.
I got out of bed and
walked into the other room and
sat on the rocker
and rocked.
she walked out. now, listen, you
old fart, you’ve got warts and scars and
all kinds of things all over
you. I do believe you’re the ugliest
old man
I’ve ever seen.
forget that, I said, tell me some more
about that
mole on your butt.
she walked into the other room
and got dressed and then ran past me
slammed the door
and was
gone.
and to think ,
she’d read all my books of
poetry too.
I just hoped she wouldn’t tell
anybody that
I wasn’t pretty.
Bukowski specializes in a distinct style of realism and offers the reader small glimpses into his world of booze and broads. His language is frank and often offensive to the ‘pc’ reader. They reflect a time and a language. Melancholy permeates most of his work. I take as an example a poem entitled ‘a threat to my immortality’. There are no fancy devices, beautiful language, aesthetic structures, or extravagant designs of any kind. The language does however coincide with the subject matter at hand. An ugly experience with a cheap date in a dirty room that probably smells like beer and sex. The poem is essentially about a wart on a woman’s ass the poet recognizes just before the act of sex, there is no beauty in that. He cannot get over this physical affliction and criticizes her for it, despite his own age and ugliness. He seeks perfection, or at least a welcoming physique from his partner probably because of his own insecurity and ugliness. He experiences beauty like a leech or parasite. He doesn’t find his host appealing anymore once he recognizes her flaw. He realizes at the end of the poem that she has read all of his poetry, his one noteworthy contribution to the world and realizes his image may be tainted. He is ugly in this life but his work will live on as a thing of beauty. Bukowski knows he is ugly and repeats it endlessly in his body of work, it seems almost juvenile when he says,
I just hoped she wouldn’t tell
anybody that
I wasn’t pretty.
These words have poetic validity because they emote feelings of despair and insecurity. Regardless of form, we read poetry to feel.