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The Writing & Poetry of Charles Bukowski

Excerpt from The Albums

I just drank in this cheap room, a young man
totally misplaced in the world.
I hardly ate anything, the wine was my
substance
and the classical records.

I lived like a god damned fly, or maybe like a
confused
rat.
Where I scrounged my few funds, I no longer
remember.

But I do remember the record store
where you could exchange 3 used albums for
2.

By buying an occasional album and by continuous
trading
I gradually listened to almost all the
albums
in that store.

But most of the time I was broke so I had to
listen to very very many of the 2 albums
on hand
over and over and
over.

I drank and listened again and
again.
each note became embedded in
me
and then
re-embedded.

now
decades later
I still sometimes hear
one of those old albums on the
radio–same conductor, same
orchestra–
and I immediately
shut the radio off.

Yet remember that time with a
melancholy
fondness.

A cult figure, novelist, short-story writer, poet and journalist. One of the greatest writers to come out of Los Angeles, many consider Bukowski to be a true voice of the city of angels. Bukowski, also known as “Buk,” wrote with raw emotion and painted with words. His canvas was Los Angeles. Not the glitter though. His Los Angeles was the stench of alley-ways, broken dreams, broken hearts, winos and of course…the horse track. Link

Risk

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out to others is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas, your dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken,
because the greatest hazard in life is to do nothing.

The person who risks nothing,
does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.

They may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, live.

Chained by their attitudes, they are a slave,
they forfeited their freedom.

Only the person who risks can be free

The Poetry of Horace

Happy the man

Happy the man, and happy he alone,

he who can call today his own:

he who, secure within, can say,

Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine

the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.

Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,

but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

More info about Horace at Wikepedia.org

The Doodles & Art of Emily Jocureton

Emily Jocureton has found more than just words in her daily issue of the New York Times Crossword Puzzle section. Looking past the blocks of white and black Emily creates a creative world by using different words and phrases found within the puzzle. Phrases such as “tack spasm”, “faze lobes”, and “clam inajam” get Emily’s creative juices flowing. So much so that they flow right on out onto the puzzle itself. Link

The Writings of Walt Whitman

I am the poet of slaves,
and of the masters of slaves
I am the poet of the body
And I am
[Entire passage struck through]
I am the poet of the body
And I am the poet of the soul
The I go with the slaves of the earth are mine and
The equally with the masters are equally [illegible]
And I will stand between
the masters and the slaves,
And I Entering into both, and
so that both shall understand
me alike.

Walter Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist, journalist, and humanist. He was a part of the transition between Transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described as obscene for its overt sexuality. Wikipedia, Walt Whitman Archives