You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense - Charles Bukowski [0]
You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense
for Jeff Copland
Contents
1813-1883
red Mercedes
retired
working it out
beasts bounding through time—
trashcan lives
the lost generation
no help for that
my non-ambitious ambition
education
downtown L.A.
another casualty
driving test
that’s why funerals are so sad
cornered
bumming with Jane
darkness
termites of the page
a good time
the still trapeze
January
sunny side down
the man in the brown suit
a magician, gone…
well, that’s just the way it is
the chemistry of things
rift
my friend, the parking lot attendant
miracle
a non-urgent poem
my first affair with that older woman
the freeway life
the player
p.o. box 11946, Fresno, Calif. 93776
poor Al
for my ivy league friends:
helping the old
bad times at the 3rd and Vermont hotel
the Master Plan
garbage
my vanishing act
let’s make a deal
16-bit Intel 8088 chip
zero
putrefaction
I’ll take it…
supposedly famous
the last shot
whorehouse
starting fast:
the crazy truth
drive through hell
for the concerned:
a funny guy
shoes
coffee
together
the finest of the breed
close to greatness
the stride
final story
friends within the darkness
death sat on my knee and cracked with laughter
oh yes
O tempora! O mores!
the passing of a great one
the wine of forever
true
Glenn Miller
Emily Bukowski
some suggestions
invasion
hard times
longshot
concrete
Gay Paree?
I thought the stuff tasted worse than usual
the blade
the boil
not listed
I’m not a misogynist
the lady in the castle
relentless as the tarantula
their night
huh?
it’s funny, isn’t it? #1
it’s funny, isn’t it? #2
the beautiful lady editor
about the PEN conference
everybody talks too much
me and my buddy
song
practice
love poem to a stripper
my buddy
Jon Edgar Webb
thank you
the magic curse
party’s over
no nonsense
escape
wearing the collar
a cat is a cat is a cat is a cat
marching through Georgia
gone
I meet the famous poet
seize the day
the shrinking island
magic machine
those girls we followed home
fractional note
a following
a tragic meeting
an ordinary poem
from an old dog in his cups…
let ’em go
trying to make it
the death of a splendid neighborhood
you get so alone at times that it just makes sense
a good gang, after all
this
hot
late late late poem
3 a.m. games:
someday I’m going to write a primer for crippled saints but meanwhile
help wanted
sticks and stones…
working
over done
our laughter is muted by their agony
murder
what am I doing?
nervous people
working out
how is your heart?
forget it
quiet
it’s ours
About the Author
Other Books by Charles Bukowski
Copyright
About the Publisher
1813-1883
listening to Wagner
as outside in the dark the wind blows a cold rain the
trees wave and shake lights go
off and on the walls creak and the cats run under the
bed…
Wagner battles the agonies, he’s emotional but
solid, he’s the supreme fighter, a giant in a world of
pygmies, he takes it straight on through, he breaks
barriers
an
astonishing FORCE of sound as
everything here shakes
shivers
bends
blasts
in fierce gamble
yes, Wagner and the storm intermix with the wine as
nights like this run up my wrists and up into my head and
back down into the
gut
some men never
die
and some men never
live
but we’re all alive
tonight.
red Mercedes
naturally, we are all caught in
downmoods, it’s a matter of
chemical imbalance
and an existence
which, at times,
seems to forbid
any real chance at
happiness.
I was in a downmood
when this rich pig
along with his blank
inamorata
in this red Mercedes
cut
in front of me
at racetrack parking.
it clicked inside of me
in a flash:
I’m going to pull that fucker
out of his car and
kick his
ass!
I followed him
into Valet parking
parked behind him
and jumped from my
car
ran up to his
door
and yanked at
it.
it was
locked.
the
windows were
up.
I rapped on the window
on his
side:
“open up! I’m gonna
bust your
ass!