The Strongest of the Strange by Charles Bukowski

[Snafu in the Void]

^-- A good video with Bukowski reading this poem... --^
To me this poem is about feeling different and addiction...

The Strongest of the Strange by Charles Bukowski

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
these odd ones, not many
but from them come
the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best of the strange ones
perhaps nothing.
they are their own paintings
their own books
their own music
their own work.
sometimes I think
I see them– say
a certain old man
sitting on a
certain bench
in a certain way
or
a quick face going the other way
in a passing automobile
or
there’s a certain motion of the hands
of a bag—boy or a bag—girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes it is even somebody
you have been living with
for some time—
you will notice a lightning quick glance
never seen from them before.
sometimes
you will only note their existance
suddenly in vivid recall
some months
some years
after they are gone.
I remember such a one—
he was about 20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked New Orleans mirror
face dreaming against the
walls of the world
where did I go?

 

[wudbutcher]

^-- A good video with Bukowski reading this poem... --^
To me this poem is about feeling different and addiction...

The Strongest of the Strange by Charles Bukowski

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
these odd ones, not many
but from them come
the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best of the strange ones
perhaps nothing.
they are their own paintings
their own books
their own music
their own work.
sometimes I think
I see them– say
a certain old man
sitting on a
certain bench
in a certain way
or
a quick face going the other way
in a passing automobile
or
there’s a certain motion of the hands
of a bag—boy or a bag—girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes it is even somebody
you have been living with
for some time—
you will notice a lightning quick glance
never seen from them before.
sometimes
you will only note their existance
suddenly in vivid recall
some months
some years
after they are gone.
I remember such a one—
he was about 20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked New Orleans mirror
face dreaming against the
walls of the world
where did I go?

Love this one.
Where did I go?

 

[Snafu in the Void]

may be my favorite bukowski poem, hits hard at the end (like a lot of his poems)

 

[Shady's Fox]

I say this, no one made me tear like Bukowski did.