Charles Bukowski
Dear Ray Harvey: Is Charles Bukowski a great artist?
– Billy Badass
Dear Billy Badass: No, he’s not. Bukowski is too sloppy to be a great artist. He lacks vision. He lacks depth and he lacks focus. Reading him, one is reminded of Truman Capote’s criticism of On the Road:
“That’s not writing; it’s typing.”
Here, for example, is a typical Bukowski poem:
A Radio With Guts
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I’d tell my woman,
“Ah, what a marvelous radio!”
the next morning I’d take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I’d take the window
back to the glass man.
I don’t remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.
What do you think?
And yet for all this, Bukowski does possess something — which is to say, he’s not altogether devoid of talent. For one thing, as you glimpse above, he has a genuine sense for beauty, at times, not consistently. And he’s intelligent. His all-time favorite movie was Eraserhead by David Lynch. Bukowski’s talent, however, remains largely fallow. If you’ve read a few Bukowski poems or stories, you’ve pretty much read them all.
In short, a little Bukowski, goes a very, very long way.
Here’s Bukowski at his best:
February 21st, 2010 at 8:29 pm
I happen to like Bukowski alot for the reasons you apparently dislike him, namely, he is not steeped in “ivory tower literature,” and his poems are authentic and come from the guts, which is what good writing is about, IMHO.
February 21st, 2010 at 8:36 pm
I think you make a fair point, Dex: Bukowski is authentic — or at least seems to be — and yet he forsakes a lot. He explicitly rejects all but the most narrow kind of literature — i.e. the kind he and John Fante write.
Thanks for dropping by.
If you like me, tell your friends about me. If your friends like me, get new friends.
February 21st, 2010 at 8:58 pm
LOL! I was just going to bring that up. Bukowski wouldn’t be shit without John Fante. I swear, you read those John Fante books and you think you’re reading an early incarnation of Bukowski.
Dex, you want authentic, watch a drunken Bukowski and his drunken girlfriend here (FF to the 3:20 mark, if you’re not into the whole thing):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUeGsTjIj0A
February 22nd, 2010 at 11:12 am
yeah and hemingway’s a one-trick pony too no doubt.
(he is)
i think yr selling bukowski just a little short.
don’t believe he’s authentic. read the jane baker laments.
capote? rather missing the point with the road dontcha think? and a man who spent the ass-end of his drinking years, just talking not writing.
and since i know you jones for jones…
who in the hell is tom jones?
i was shacked with a
24 year old girl from
new york city for
two weeks – about
the time of the garbage
strike out there, and
one night my 34 year
old woman arrived and
she said, “i want to see
my rival.” she did
and then she said, “o,
you’re a cute little thing!”
next i knew there was a
screech of wildcats-
such screaming and scratch-
ing, wounded animal moans,
blood and piss. . .
i was drunk and in my
shorts. i tried to
seperate them and fell,
wrenched my knee. then
they were through the screen
door and down the walk
and out into the street.
squadcars full of cops
arrived. a police heli-
coptor circled overhead.
i stood in the bathroom
and grinned in the mirror.
it’s not often at the age
of 55 that such splendid
things occur.
better than the watts
riots.
the 34 year old
came back in. she had
pissed all over her-
self and her clothing
was torn and she was
followed by 2 cops who
wanted to know why.
pulling up my shorts
i tried to explain.
February 23rd, 2010 at 8:06 am
Ha-ha!
That was udderly hilarious. But selling Bukowski short? Please. (I did like that poem, though, in a way.)
Who’s Tom Jones? I don’t necessarily know, but I do remember you once said that the latest Radiohead CD was not (and I quote) “Tom Jones’s cock.”
No doubt you remember this one.
February 23rd, 2010 at 1:59 pm
all i’m saying is that poem, it’s like judging david lynch on dune rather than mullholland drive. he wrote too much. too much, that’s for sure. bukowski. not lynch. that is.
the radiohead record? it’s not even jones’ ballsac no matter his cock. maybe perineum…
that video though, how could one forget his spazzy kung fu sex moves?
it gets me a little moist.
February 24th, 2010 at 9:15 am
As Wichita Falls,
So falls Wichita Falls.
February 25th, 2010 at 8:33 am
How beautiful it is,
that eye-on-the-object look.
March 25th, 2010 at 8:09 am
i am a poet in bengali.i know what makes a revolutionary in poetry.bukwoski is a great poet because he has added new dimension to language of english poetry.apart from that he is strongly authentic and relivens his surroundings. miles away i read him almost everyday.
March 25th, 2010 at 6:26 pm
A fellow poet. Thank you for dropping by, sanjam pal.