 | PSOetry: Blame It on Bukowski |
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So a certain someone sends me this poem:
poetry readings ~ Charles Bukowski
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can’t find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant’s fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke
anything
anything
but
these.
I read this poem. I read it twice. I read it three, four more times. And I loved it and I hated it. And it pissed me off. How dare he? Yet I wanted to read more of this man’s poetry, I wanted to find information on this poet, read what others have to say about him. I started looking.
Found this and this and even this.
So I was thinking about my day of gear grinding over Mr. Bukowski, when there occurred a small, but indeed ferocious (trust me, it feels most excellent), epiphany of sorts: That this poem was doing exactly what poetry is supposed to do. If I need to explain this to you, well then you will never get it. So I’m not even going to try. But, let me tell you this, Zen Reader: Charles Bukowski is one fucking awesome poet.
The upshot of all of this is that I’ve decided to add PSOetry to my Categories. Because I do, despite being a PhoneSex Goddess, simply dig poetry. I write it, I read it, I love discovering it and rediscovering it. Plus, because there are so many wannabees out there (and for all I know I just might be one of them), poetry has pretty much gotten a bad rap.
Even erotica sites generally do not accept poems for consideration. Which I find pretty damn sad. I am taking a stand: Poetry is Cool. Poetry is Beautiful. Poetry is Awesome. So, once a week or even more, if you don’t mind (or even if you do. it is my blog, after all), I will be presenting a poem.
Maybe I’ll comment on it, maybe I won’t. Let’s see how it all works out. After all, I really am just doing all of this by the seat of my panties. And it seems to be working, at least so far. So let’s leave it that way. In the meantime, blame it on Mr. B.
“Poetry is Cool. Poetry is Beautiful. Poetry is Awesome.” Ditto Miss Angela.
I will look forward with much anticipation to these PSOetry installments.
Bravo!
I read the poem over and over too. And then I got it. I think this a good turn, this PSOetry category. I look forward to seeing what comes next.
And will there be more of your own works?
Wow! I don’t know how I even got to this blog. But it’s fascinating. Who knew a “naughty girl” could also be smart, sassy and get into poetry to boot?
I always look at who a blogger chooses to link to. Your choices speak volumes.
I’ve bookmarked you and will be back often. Thanks for putting some quality stuff here for we surfers to find. It’s what we’re looking for after all. (Even when we don’t think so.)
Poetry for me is the convergence of intellect, spirit, ego and libido. For me it is a rare intersection when I, in the same private way I call mistress Angela, try to write in verse. This is why I so respect the poet and poetry as an art form. I liked Mr. B’s assault – I read it as frustration, then tongue-in-cheek and then as a diatribe from the coach at halftime. Another reading? Another view. Yes, this is good poetry.
Not only are you smart, but your correspondents are, too!
By the way: I’ve never enjoyed poetry read out loud (besides I guess, Shakespeare in the mouth of a good actor).
I like to read it, hear the words rub together (as McLuhan put it), linger over it, drape it around my mind, and enjoy it that way.
Am I alone in this preference?
Ok..who are these new people?
Michelle, you’ve commented here and there recently…would you be the Michelle from Slip of a Girl?
And Mr. Smith: You just tickle me pink. Are you sure I don’t know you? You’re not a call in disguise are you?
And Jeremy: You are capable of learning. I like that in a man.
Thanks, everybody.
Hey Hey for Leonard Cohen!
http://www.leonardcohenfiles.com/
Monkey…where in the heck have you been? And it’s not many who are permitted to leave links within the body of their comments. You owe me big time. Instant Message me when you get a moment (a better idea: call 1-800-863-5478 ext. 0311424) and tell me all about this (of course, Canadian) Mr. Cohen.
Hi Angela
yes, I’m that friend of Slips. And an admirer of yours (join the crowd).