Come on In! - Charles Bukowski [8]
I still have nights and days of depression the typewriter does not fail me.
readers expect continual growth from their poets but at this time just
holding (the fort, haha) seems miraculous. long walks, yes. and the ability
not to care—at times—as our society erupts and struggles does not mean
that I am the victim of artistic loss. solitary evenings behind drawn blinds,
being neither rich nor poor, can be satisfying. will madness arrive on
schedule? I don’t know and I don’t seek an answer—just a small quiet
space between not knowing, not wanting to know and finally finding out.
he’s a dog
who? Chinaski? he hates fags and women.
he’s a drunk. he beats his wife. he’s a Nazi.
he only writes about sex and drinking. who
cares about that?
and he’s a nasty drunk.
I don’t understand what people see in his
writing.
I am the real genius and now
Chinaski has asked his publishers not to
publish me!
I’ve known some of the greatest writers
of our time!
Chinaski has met nobody.
I got him his start!
I got him included in that prestigious
anthology!
how does he repay me?
he writes unflattering things about
me.
and he claims he’s lived with all
those beautiful women.
have you ever seen his face?
who would bed down a man
like that?
and he’s had no education, no formal
training.
he has no idea what a stanza
is.
or for that matter—a line
break.
he just begins at the top
of the page and runs on to the
bottom.
and he says things like,
“Shakespeare bores me.”
Shakespeare!
imagine that!
and the only people he cares to see
now are the Hollywood stars!
he doesn’t want to see anybody
else.
well, I don’t want to see him
either.
I remember when he lived
in rooms the size of a
closet.
now that he has had a few books
published
he’s too good for the
rest of us!
look, I’m tired of talking about
Chinaski.
I want you to look at these
poems here.
my Collected Works,
my work of a lifetime.
I sent them to Chinaski for a
reading,
asked for a foreword or
at least a
blurb.
that was two months ago and
not a word from him
since.
not even a sign that
he’s received the
stuff.
and I got him his start!
I got him in that prestigious anthology!
and then he asked his publishers not
to publish me!
tremor
at 9:50 the dogs started barking.
a few minutes later there was an earthquake
near Palm Springs.
the television stations break into their
programs with the news.
then the radio stations begin belaboring
the situation and
the earthquake experts at Caltech are
asked for their opinion.
the announcers are in their element.
phones begin to ring
in radio stations all
over the city.
yes, it was a quake.
yes, there will be aftershocks.
yes, we should check for gas leaks
and run a supply of water into the tub.
yes, we are all as one now.
yes, we have something we can all talk about
and we can talk about it
together.
yes, we should all call our friends
to be sure they’re safe.
(I can only wonder,
will some say they were copulating when
it happened?
will others have been sitting on the
toilet?
so many people may have been copulating
or sitting on the toilet!)
the announcer continues:
what’s that, caller?
you say you were copulating on the toilet
when it happened?
this is no time to be funny!
now we will switch to our Eye in the
Sky.
Henderson?
Henderson, are you there?
Henderson?
very well, ladies and gentlemen, we seem to have
lost contact with Henderson
so we’ll go to our roving reporter who is now
on the scene.
Barbara, are you there?
my Mexican buddy
I liked him
he was clever and he could make me laugh
and often when he worked the case next to
mine we would stick our letters together and
talk
even though it was against the
rules.
he had become an American citizen
had found his way into the post office
and owned a movie theatre in
Mexico City.
I usually disliked ambitious fellows
but this guy was humorous so I forgave
him his ambition.
“hey, man,” he asked me one night,
“how long has it been since you had