Bukowski, Charles: Poetry
Not that these are very complimentary, but they do reference Bruckner. My thanks to Grant Loebs for sending these. Bruckner listening to Bruckner now. I relate very much to him. he just misses by so little. I ache for his dead guts. if we all could only move it up one notch when necessary. but we can't. I remember my fight in the rain that Saturday night in the alley with Harry Tabor. his eyes were rolling in that great dumb head, one more punch and he was mine- I missed. or the beautiful woman who visited me one night, who sat on my couch and told me that she was "yours, a gift ." but I poured whiskey, pranced about bragged about myself and finally after returning from the kitchen I found her gone. so many near misses. so many other near misses. oh, Bruckner, I know! I am listening to Bruckner now and I ache for his dead guts and for my living soul. we all need something we can do well, you know. like scuba diving or opening the morning mail. Defeat listening to Bruckner on the radio wondering why I'm not half mad over the latest breakup with my latest girlfriend wondering why I'm not driving the streets drunk wondering why I'm not in the bedroom in the dark in the grievous dark pondering ripped by half-thoughts I suppose that at last like the average man: I've known too many women and instead of thinking, I wonder who's fucking her now? I think she's giving some other poor son of a bitch much trouble now. listening to Bruckner on the radio seems so peaceful. I pick up a Grumbacher paint brush and clean my fingernails with the hard sharp end. I notice a wall socket. look, I've won. Bruckner (2) Bruckner wasn’t bad even though he got down on his knees and proclaimed Wagner the master. It saddens me, I guess, in a small way because while Wagner was hitting all those homers Bruckner was sacrificing the runners on second and he knew it. and I know that mixing baseball metaphors with classical music will not please the purists either. I prefer Ruth to most of his teammates but I appreciate those who did the best they could and kept on doing it even though they knew they were second best. this is your club fighter your back-up quarterback the unknown jock who sometimes brings one in at 40-to-one. this was Bruckner. there are times when we should remember the strange courage of the second-rate who refuse to quit when the nights are black and long and sleepless and the days are without end. Help Wanted and Received I’m stale sitting here at this typewriter, the door open on my little balcony when suddenly there is a roar in the sky, Bruckner shouts back from the radio and then the rain comes down glorious and violent, and I realize that it’s good that the world can explode this way because now I am renewed, listening and watching as droplets of rain splash on my wristwatch. the torrent of rain clears my brain and my spirit as a long line of blue lightning splits the night sky. I smile inside, remembering that someone once said, “I’d rather be lucky than good,” and I quickly think, “I’d rather be lucky and good” as tonight As Bruckner sets the tone as the hard rain continues to fall as another blue streak of lightning explodes in the sky I’m grateful for that moment I’m both. |
