A Bukowski Writing Lesson
It's about this time he pulls out my first book of poetry, the copy I
mailed him three months earlier. He starts reading the very first poem:
i tore my nails into
my stomache and ripping a hole
big enough to put my hand
into me with blind fingers
feeling between intestines
and liver for the flower of
me, until i found it pulling
it out, holding it in my bloody
right hand until my left hand
hot hold of my soul, and i
took the two and smashed them
together until they became a
solid piece of total beauty
for me to throw with all
my strength into the
stars
I'm watching close as he reads through it. He seems not to be hurting at all so I feel it's all working nicely and then he gets to the last word and he suddenly goes, "OOOOOOHHHH SHIT. IT WAS GOING FINE RIGHT UP TO THAT LAST WORD-STARS-OHH IT'S TOO DAMN BAD-WHAT A SHAME."
I was asking myself, "What? What th'hell does he mean? Stars? What wrong with 'stars'? Nobody's ever said anything bad about 'stars' to me in my life- hmmmmm."
Bukowski spoke on, "STARS is so goddamn ultra poetic. You can use STARS. STARS STARS STARS FUCK TH' GODDAMN STARS! What a shame, kid. You had it strong right up to the last word, then gone, ruined, all th'damn dead false sewing circle poets are forever writing STARS STARS STARS!! they can't write a line without STARS in it somewhere. I'm sorry kid."
What he was telling me made instant sense but I tried to
hedge in my mind because the 1,000 copies were already printed
and half the run was already distributed and there wasn't any
chance I could recall every copy and have Tasmania Press
change the last word of the first poem to some word, any word
other than STARS.
Now it's July 11, 1994 and it's been 29 years since
Hank tore his Lion's Claws into my use of STARS and I've
never used the word STARS or stars or stARS ever since
....since ten minutes after I met Charles Bukwoski, face to face.
-Steve Richmond
I like it
