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His poems and stories reject traditional poetic forms and instead embrace a direct, conversational style. This accessible approach, combined with his focus on the mundane and the marginalized, attracted a wide readership and made him a significant figure in the American literary landscape.
- Back To The Machine Gun
Analysis (ai): This poem, characterized by its colloquial...
- Close To Greatness
It contrasts with Bukowski's usual themes of alienation and...
- Beasts Bounding Through Time
ThePhoenix909 - I find this poem to be great, a tad morbid,...
- German
Analysis (ai): This poem reflects Charles Bukowski's unique...
- Back To The Machine Gun
- El pájaro azul. hay un pájaro azul en mi pecho. tratando de salir. pero soy demasiado duro con él, Yo digo quédate ahí, no te dejaré. que nadie lo vea.
- El corazón que ríe. tu vida es tu vida. No dejes que la aplaste el frío. Ser informado. Hay otras formas. Y en algún lugar, todavía hay luz. Tal vez no sea mucha luz, pero.
- A solas con todos. la carne cubre los huesos. y poner en mente. alli y. a veces alma, y las mujeres rompen. jarrones contra las paredes. y los hombres beben. demasiado.
- Entonces quieres ser escritor. si no te sale explotas. después de todo, no. a menos que te vayas sin pedir el tuyo. corazón, de tu cabeza, de tu boca. de tu vientre,
duermen con una simplicidad directa que. los seres humanos sencillamente no podemos. comprender. sus ojos son más. hermosos que los nuestros. y pueden dormir 20 horas. al día. sin vacilar ni sentir. remordimientos.
Charles Bukowski was a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the depravity of urban life and the downtrodden in American society. A cult hero, Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and sexual imagery.
- A Smile to Remember
- Bluebird
- Alone with Everybody
- And The Moon and The Stars and The World
- The Genius of The Crowd
- Beasts Bounding Through Time
- Cause and Effect
- As The Poems Go
- Confession
- 8 Count
we had goldfish and they circled around and around in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting us all to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry!’ and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you can but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while raging inside ...
there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you. there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there. there’s a bluebi...
the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there’s no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. ...
Long walks at night– that’s what good for the soul: peeking into windows watching tired housewives trying to fight off their beer-maddened husbands.
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...
Van Gogh writing his brother for paints Hemingway testing his shotgun Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine the impossibility of being human Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town the impossibility of being human Burroughs killing his wife with a gun Mailer stabbing his the impossibility of being...
the best often die by their own hand just to get away, and those left behind can never quite understand why anybody would ever want to get away from them
as the poems go into the thousands you realize that you’ve created very little. it comes down to the rain, the sunlight, the traffic, the nights and the days of the years, the faces. leaving this will be easier than living it, typing one more line now as a man plays a piano through the radio, the best writers have said very little and the worst, fa...
waiting for death like a cat that will jump on the bed I am so very sorry for my wife she will see this stiff white body shake it once, then maybe again “Hank!” Hank won’t answer. it’s not my death that worries me, it’s my wife left with this pile of nothing. I want to let her know though that all the nights sleeping beside her even the useless arg...
from my bed I watch 3 birds on a telephone wire. one flies off. then another. one is left, then it too is gone. my typewriter is tombstone still. and I am reduced to bird watching. just thought I’d let you know,
6 de mar. de 2024 · 1 · Están por todas partes. 2 · Oigo las melodias de exito más actuales. 3 · Mariposas. 4 · ¿Así que quieres ser escritor?. 5 · El mejor poema de amor que puedo escribir por el momento. 6 · 38.000 contra uno. 7 · en el zoo. 8 · Tira los dados. 9 · el fregado. 10 · la gente de la heladeria. 11 · llegaron a tiempo. 12 · Cuanto más te esfuerzas.
Charles Bukowski was a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the depravity of urban life and the downtrodden in American society. A cult hero, Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and...
