A poem by Charles Bukowski

[mariacallas]

I found this lovely poem by Bukowskis wife of 18 years written just after he had died.

I am the woman who knows for sure
that Bukowski's balls were bigger
I am the woman who knows
that he liked hot chilies
in his stew
I am the woman who
introduced him to shampoo
and Lucy Ball and Jerry Dumphy
I'm the one who removed
all the blackheads from his back
and front and face and behind
I am the one who slept curled
inside the curve of his body
I cut his hair and his toenails
I bet with him at the track
laughing when I had the winner
and he had the loser
I knew his systems that worked
I rode in his old blue Comet
through East Los Angeles
where we stopped for a burrito
we wrote seperate in the same room
he took his turn at the dishes
I was the medicine for his hangover
after a split and a three day drunk
I was the woman he could fall into
sometimes for days and feel whole
the bright plesantness of that bedroom
on Edgewater Terrace will forever live
in my memory with pure pleasure
the laughter and the witty stories
the art, the sculpture, the reading
the laughter, the love, the laughter

© 1997 Linda King

 

[aphrodite-84]

one of the books im reading is his 'ham on rye' and it's really awesome. I can't wait to get my hands on more. The book, although far worse than my childhood, still really hits home for me. He's probably one of the most honest writers I've read so far. I'm glad so many others can dig it.

 

[B9]

His poetry seems about a million times 'better' than that tripe 'post office' I read and decided that he was not worth bothering with. I might revise that opinion.

 

[mariacallas]

^ Try reading his other stories....Ham on Rye, Factotum, Hollywood, Confessions of a man insane enough to live with Beasts, or Women.

 

[B9]

^ Ok shall do so , maybe, one day, after all it would be rash of me to commit :D