Jesus Christ, Holy cow!

He was in my dream!!! He was reading his poems and said something......

I woke up in the middle of night, what did the teacher say? Did I owe him a paper? Finally I realized he was Bukowski. Oh well, at least I don't owe him any paper. I went back to sleep. I guess I've been watching too many his reading on YouTube...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qByWF30jKiw

“Law,” by Charles Bukowski:

“Look,“ he told me,
“all those little children dying in the trees.”
And I said, “What?”
He said, “look.”
And I went to the window and sure enough, there they were hanging in the trees,
dead and dying.
And I said, “What does it mean?”
He said, “I don’t know it’s authorized.”

The next day I got up and they had dogs in the trees,
hanging, dead, and dying.
I turned to my friend and I said, “What does it mean?”
And he said,
“Don’t worry about it, it’s the way of things. They took a vote. It was decided.”
The next day it was cats.
I don’t see how they caught all those cats so fast and hung them in the trees, but they did.
The next day it was horses,
and that wasn’t so good because many bad branches broke.

And after bacon and eggs the next day,
my friend pulled his pistol on me across the coffee
and said,
“Let’s go,”
and we went outside.
And here were all these men and women in the trees,
most of them dead or dying.
And he got the rope ready and I said,
“What does it mean?”
And he said, “It’s authorized, constitutional, it past the majority,”
And he tied my hands behind my back then opened the noose.
“I don’t know who’s going to hang me,” he said,
“When I get done with you.
I suppose when it finally works down
there will be just one left and he’ll have to hang himself.”
“Suppose he doesn’t,” I ask.
“He has to,” he said,
“It’s authorized.”
“Oh,” I said, “Well,
let’s get on with it.”

http://afflictor.com/2011/03/07/bukowski-on-the-dark-side-of-democracy/

_________________________________________________________________________________________

I read about Bukowski on line first, I dislike him.

http://bukowski.net/poems/int2.php

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Bukowski

This video is a bit long...

For me, Bukowski is a hypocrite.

He sees himself as American lowlife's spokesman and enjoys the title that Time magazine gave him, "The laureate of American lowlife." But, at the same time, he looks down on those people. The evidence is everywhere in his writing. For example, he listens to classical music all the time. (27) Also, not like those people, he reads all kinds of books, medical, psychology, classic... He tried to distinguish himself from the lowlife. he said: " They all come to see me," twice; "Even my doctor phones me." (25) Furthermore, "That's all right, I've given away more money than I have cock, but these people have got to realize that I also have some trouble staying alive." (26) It sounds like he is those lowlife's saviour. I was wondering why I should read his junk!

What do you think who you are?

How dare you say that Shakespeare is unreadable and overrated!

How dare you say that Shakespeare is shit!

How dare you compare yourself with Li Bai by saying Li Bai drank wine too!

http://bukowski.net/poems/int2.php

Li Bai, my favorite poet, died by chasing the moon and drowned in the lake. How romantic! How about you? Died because of leukemia, something you couldn't control. I guess Bukowski just knew it too well as he said: "That's what a good writer (Celine) will do to you. He'll damn near kill you... A bad writer will too."

Li Bai
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Li_Bai

Excerpt from Wikipedia

One of Li Bai's best known poems and a good example of his writing is his Drinking Alone by Moonlight (月下獨酌, pinyin: Yuè Xià Dú Zhuó), which has been translated into English by various authors, including this translation, by Arthur Waley:^[48]

花間一壺酒。 A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

獨酌無相親。 I drink alone, for no friend is near.

舉杯邀明月。 Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

對影成三人。 For he, with my shadow, will make three men.

月既不解飲。 The moon, alas, is no drinker of wine;

影徒隨我身。 Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.

暫伴月將影。 Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave

行樂須及春。 I must make merry before the Spring is spent.

我歌月徘徊。 To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;

我舞影零亂。 In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and break.

醒時同交歡。 While we were sober, three shared the fun;

醉後各分散。 Now we are drunk, each goes his way.

永結無情遊。 May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,

相期邈雲漢。 And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the sky.

(Note: the "Cloudy River of the sky" refers to the Milky Way)

Another translation
http://www.musicated.com/syh/tangpoems.htm#LiBai04

Drinking Alone with the Moon (Li Bai, 701-762 AD, China) Ying Sun © 2008

From a wine pot amidst the flowers,
I drink alone without partners.
To invite the moon I raise my cup.
We’re three, as my shadow shows up.
Alas, the moon doesn’t drink.
My shadow follows but doesn’t think.
Still for now I have these friends,
To cheer me up until the spring ends.
I sing; the moon wanders.
I dance; the shadow scatters.
Awake, together we have fun.
Drunk, separately we’re gone.
Let’s be boon companions forever,
Pledging, in heaven, we’ll be together.

32 translators, 30 translations
http://budbloom.blogspot.com/2007/01/li-bai-drinking-alone-with-moon-his.html

As it is mentioned above, this poem has been translated into English by various authors. It is difficult to be original. Here is my attempt, with Mick’s help.

Drinking Alone In the Moonlight

Amid the garden of flowers there’s a jug of wine;

I drink alone without a friend of mine.

Lifting up my cup, I beckon the moon to drink with me;

My shadow still lingering, together we are three.

The moon does not know how to drain her cup;

The shadow trails me vainly down and up.

The moon and the shadow are my friends at the present;

For the time of the year is the time to be pleasant.

When I sing, the wandering moon floats joining my song;

With my dance, the scattered shadow stumbles along.

Sober minded, we have happiness and are open-hearted;

Being drunk, we lost one another and departed.

Our never ending joy can only be found;

In Heaven far away the galaxy all around.

Tr. Peanut & Mick

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Language is very important. When you speak, people can usually tell what kind the person you are after a couple minutes. I don't think I will ever use Bukowski's language, so, what's the purpose to read...

The first story I read from him, A. 45 to Pay the Rent. I was touched a little bit. I can feel the wife's love towards the husband who is a professional thief/ robber. I can understand her anxiety while the husband is "working" at night. I feel sorry for the little girl because she will grow up like her parents. On the other hand, why do I want to know about those "kind" of people's lives? I'm not interested in what happens in jail and all those sorts of things. I couldn't even finish reading Doing Time with Public Enemy No.1. It makes me sick.

Last semester, the teacher changed my attitude towards George Orwell. I doubt if he can change my thinking about Bukowski. I don't like him, at all!

Reading becomes tedious and boring.......

__________________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_M3wsW1Abk

Flophouse

you haven't lived

until you've been in a

flophouse

with nothing but one

light bulb

and 56 men

squeezed together

on cots

with everybody

snoring

at once

and some of those

snores

deep and

gross and

unbelievable-

dark

snotty

gross

subhuman

wheezings

from hell

itself.

your mind

almost breaks

under those

death-like

sounds

and the

intermingling

odors:

hard

unwashed socks

pissed and

shitted

underwear

and over it all

slowly circulating

air

much like that

emanating from

uncovered

garbage

cans.

and those

bodies

in the dark

fat and

thin

and

bent

some

legless

armless

some

mindless

and worst of

all:

the total

absence of

hope

it shrouds

them

covers them

totally.

it's not

bearable.

you get

go out

walk the

streets

up and

down

sidewalks

past buildings

around the

corner

and back

the same

street

thinking

those men

were all

children

once

what has happened

them?

and what has

happened

me?

it's dark

and cold

out

here.

I found Mr. Robinson might be right on some points after reading the poem Flophouse.

Even though we won't get involved with the people he wrote about or use his language, we can understand how other people's lives through his works.

It offers the chance to reflect on ourselves... to see our own life from another angle...

______________________________________________________________________________________

Bukowski DOES have the leadership characteristic among those people which we can see at the end of the story, Nut ward Just East of Hollywood, "I was the only one who laughed. People stared at me. I just cracked peanuts and kept on laughing. Then... everybody started laughing..."

Also, he does say something that make sense to me. For example,

"There are many people who pretend that they are happy because they are ashamed and frightened and don't have the guts to admit it." (3)

"Living was easy--- all you had to do was let go." (31)

"Speaking of shit, constipation has always been a greater fear to me than cancer...if I miss one day without shitting, I can't go anywhere, do anything." (27) HA! Speaking of shit, I am as sick as him.

I was thinking Bukowski was just a Dirty Old Man.

But, I changed my mind after reading Would You Suggest Writing as a Career? It was funny in a way and kept my attention. I think I will read more of his writings. It's a good story about a struggling writer forced to do something that he doesn't like. He said, "Writing chooses you, you don't choose it." (37) Oh well, all I'm doing now is just to write down what I learn about this dirty old man.

""Goodbye," she said, and then she kissed me. I'd never been kissed like that. She just gave over, gave everything up, I'd never been SCREWED like that." (39)

I am happy that at least he was screwed once.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Started reading Post Office.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post_Office_(novel)

He did work hard... (23) On the other hand, he might have just tried to prove that he was tough to the soup.

How rediculous! He raped a woman, who was willing to be raped, while delivered a registered letter with return attached. (37)

He quit the post office carrier job right after being promoted to a regular man. (50) Was it because the regular lacked "the old glamour" of being sub (substitute)--- "the not knowing what the hell was going to happen next?" (48)

I sort of like this, he said: "Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly---all else is desperation." (61)

"I wanted the whole world or nothing." (63) I'll think that he would never be happy and probably die frustrated.

Around the World in Eighty Days

Bukowski hated this song. (65) The fact that the manager whistled this song for two weeks was the reason he quit his job in an art store where he gummed tape machine. (62)

He then took the civil service exam again back to work for Uncle Sam as a clerk, which was described as "a good job." The guy who swore them in said: "Keep your nose clean and you've got the security the rest of your life." (66) This was the job he did for 11 years...

Can you stay in this kind of job for 11 years? I can't.
Each tray of mail you see in the video must be stuck in 23 minutes with the soup (supervisor) watching... (68)

Security sometimes is not worth what you have to put up with...

He did sacrifice a lot to insist on what he was doing.

Somehow Bukowski links to Henry Rollins and R. Cramb...

Henry Rollins' story.

http://www.biography.com/people/henry-rollins-21291161

A lot of people wait for something to happen, they don't take advantage when there is a chance.

R. Crumb’s “Varieties of Women”

http://theartofattraxion.com/works/robert-crumbs-history-of-women/

http://www.wmagazine.com/culture/art-and-design/2009/11/r_crumb/photos/slide/3

http://www.biography.com/people/robert-crumb-9262692

Similar to Bukowski, R. Cramb had a difficult time growing up. His father, a member of the U.S. marines, was physically and verbally abusive, and his mother had psychological problems.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Bukowski against Mickey Mouse

Charles Bukowski - The Soldier, His Wife & The Bum

The Soldier, His Wife and the Bum

by Charles Bukowski

I was a bum in San Francisco but once managed
to go to a symphony concert along with the well-dressed people
and the music was good but something about the
audience was not
and something about the orchestra
and the conductor was
not,
although the building was fine and the
acoustics perfect
I preferred to listen to the music alone
on my radio
and afterwards I did go back to my room and I
turned on the radio but
then there was a pounding on the wall:
“SHUT THAT GOD-DAMNED THING OFF!”

there was a soldier in the next room
living with his wife
and he would soon be going over there to protect
me from Hitler so
I snapped the radio off and then heard his
wife say, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
and the soldier said, “FUCK THAT GUY!”
which I thought was a very nice thing for him
to tell his wife to do.
of course,
she never did.

anyhow, I never went to another live concert
and that night I listened to the radio very
quietly, my ear pressed to the
speaker.

war has its price and peace never lasts and
millions of young men everywhere would die
and as I listened to classical music I heard them making love, desperately and
mournfully, through Shostakovich, Brahms,
Mozart, through crescendo and climax,
and through the shared
wall of our darkness.

Back to the book Tales of Ordinary Madness.

Bukowski, the best man at a Zen wedding.
He would "bet they, the bride and groom, hadn't even fucked that night. But somebody had been." (57)
I agree with him.
Bukowski was fucked by the Zen master who used a short karate chop after Bukowski mischief provoking, he was then awkwardly fucked by Mexican cacti, (51) and then, he was fucked by the bride's mother who pushed and he fell backwards, thrashed upon the rug because he allowed his sexual instinct run wild (52) and then he was fucked by the bride and groom who let him sprawled hopelessly 30 yards away from his door, (54) insensibility holding a bottle of alcohol and they simply drove away. He then finally fucked by the cops who put him in jail for two women reported him as trying to rape them. (55)
Yet, he accuses that everybody except him "grabbing each other's assholes in the honeycomb of survival out of a fear-animalistic stupidity." (54) I couldn't stop myself admiring him. What a character!
A real coffin wrapped in foil as a wedding gift!? (52) HA!
We were all foolish and did stupid things when we were young; but, Bukowski was born into this.

He "would rather enjoyed playing the villain." (post 61)
Was it his fault?
Was he a notorious boozer, brawler and womanizer?
Oh, no! It was all Elsie's fault.
If she hadn't asked: "Do you really, break up furniture and windows, slash your hands, all that, when you're drunk?" in the Zan wedding, Bukowski wouldn't have tried to prove it. Let's give him a break.

born like this
into this
as the chalk faces smile
as Mrs. Death laughs
as the elevators break
as political landscapes dissolve
as the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
as the oily fish spit out their oily prey
as the sun is masked

we are
born like this
into this
into these carefully mad wars
into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
into bars where people no longer speak to each other
into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings

born into this
into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes

born into this
walking and living through this
dying because of this
muted because of this
castrated
debauched
disinherited
because of this
fooled by this
used by this
pissed on by this
made crazy and sick by this
made violent
made inhuman
by this

the heart is blackened
the fingers reach for the throat
the gun
the knife
the bomb
the fingers reach toward an unresponsive god

the fingers reach for the bottle
the pill
the powder

we are born into this sorrowful deadliness
we are born into a government 60 years in debt
that soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
and the banks will burn
money will be useless
there will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
it will be guns and roving mobs
land will be useless
food will become a diminishing return
nuclear power will be taken over by the many
explosions will continually shake the earth
radiated robot men will stalk each other
the rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms

Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
the sun will not be seen and it will always be night
trees will die
all vegetation will die
radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
the sea will be poisoned
the lakes and rivers will vanish
rain will be the new gold

the rotting bodies of men will stink in the dark wind

the last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
and the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
the petering out of supplies
the natural effect of general decay

and there will be the most beautiful silence never heard

born out of that.

The sun still hidden there
awaiting the next chapter.

_______________________________________________________________________

Thinking back to the end of the last class of last semester... I told Robinson "I'm taking your Eng. 4, but it's full already. I have to register on waitlist." (Despite All my ESL classmates warned me about don't ever try Eng. 4 because we can never compete with the native English speakers when it comes to Shakespeare...) Robinson answered me: "Great, just remember that when I say Get Out to the waitlisters, you stay, and... don't hate me." I laughed and said,"Why will I hate you?" He said,"That's what happens. The more you know me, the more chances you'll hate me." I was thinking that he just tried to be funny. But...
I was shouting in my head, "WHAT!!! Are you out of your mind?!!!" when Robinson addressed Bukowski as a person "down to earth." I regretted that I took his class again. Should I drop? Oh, no~ it's too late... I have to suffer... unless I don't mind a bad record...
Keep reading Bukowski's junk...

He loves dogs!!! (post 72) (I started to agree that Bukowski is "down to earth")
Even though he said to Joyce that "he (the dog) is a subnormal; he has an I.Q. of about 12; you (Joyce) have gone out and gotten us an idiot of a dog," even though he complained about the dog "was full of piss," (I laughed a lot while reading, thinking of my Dixie...) he took care of Picasso (their dog's name.)
Bukowski has a soft heart for the dog. When he saw Joyce abuse Picasso, he played the protector. I was thinking he would have left Joyce because of the abuse; instead, he surprised me by forgiving her. If I were him, I would be disappointed and leave her. It's weird. it made me think about The following.
Season 1 Trailer

Season 2 Trailer

Joe, the cult leader, wants sex after killing someone. Is it the same with Bukowski wanted sex after abusing someone?
PS. I don't like this TV series at all. But... Mick watches every Monday, and it's like a magnet... it draws you into its story, you like it or not...

I felt left behind in class today.
Robinson was talking about Freud and more than half of the class either took or are taking psychology... I had no idea for a good half hour. What the heck is ID, Ego, Superego all about??? Maybe I'll take psychology next semester...
Sigh...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Id,_ego_and_super-ego

It gives me headache even if I read it in Chinese.
http://zh.wikipedia.org/zh-tw/%E8%A5%BF%E6%A0%BC%E8%92%99%E5%BE%B7%C2%B7%E5%BC%97%E6%B4%9B%E4%BC%8A%E5%BE%B7

Let's look at one of his poems that I like. It's beautiful and cynical although I don't quite understand.
I guess the longer you live, the more cynical you get...

The Genius Of The Crowd

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

In 1969, publisher John Martin offered to pay Charles Bukowski $100 each and every month for the rest of his life, on one condition: that he quit his job at the post office and become a writer. 49-year-old Bukowski did just that, and in 1971 his first novel, Post Office, was published by Martin's Black Sparrow Press.

15 years later, Bukowski wrote the following letter to Martin and spoke of his joy at having escaped full time employment.

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/10/people-simply-empty-out.html

_______________________________________________________________________________________

I finished reading Post Office. I thought Bukowski was a hypocrite first. Now I changed my mind and I agreed with Robinson that he is a person who is down to earth for all those years of hard working. He was just a regular man who came up with a novel that tells us about his terrible experience while working at the post office and his interests in alcohol, women and the racetrack. On the other hand, who doesn't struggle with their work in real life? Bukowski was just a lucky man who was discovered by John Martin, so he could quit the job he hated at the age of 49 and did what he really enjoyed doing, I mean writing. There are so many talented people out there but they don't have the same luck as Bukowski.
In all, will I read Post Office again?
No.
All novels are divided under two categories, which is either plot set or characteristic set, Post Office belongs to characteristic set that I am not interested in. I would rather read Harry Potter again which combined both of the sets but not Post Office.

Notes about Bukowski and his women in Post Office.
p. 53, Betty left him.
p. 88, Joyce left him.
p.111, Betty died. (We see his tenderheart.)
p. 143, Fay
p. 154, daughter
p. 160, Fay and daughter left him.

PS. I am not even interested in finding those women's real names in Bukowski's life.
Wee see Bukowski's tenderheart also in
p. 42, GG's break down

This is the picture my teacher took. The museum put a price of $750 to purchase this letter.