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It's said that Charles Bukowski got more 'tang than a WWII sailor on a weekend pass. Chicks dug him for his Bukowski-ness. Whatever that means.
Early in his life it's said many girls found him depraved-looking. Truth be told, he was a weird-lookin' dude. But also, he was one of those dudes that grew into his looks.
Call it the upside of being a man. Yeah, we may drop dead first, but if we're lucky, we'll age like fine wine. Or in Bukowski's case, really fuckin' good Kentucky moonshine.
He was definetly a better-looking older man. He wasn't Tyrone Power or anything but he had character. Essence. So chicks, groupies, came in droves.
And when all else failed, they were mere drinking buddies.
So check out this quirky, if not desperate-sounding poem Bukowski wrote to some dame who lifted his papers. Poetry, in fact.
It's funny, sad and true all at once. But try not to chuckle... You're reading primal creative frustration. The dude was passionate about his art in an age before floppies and flash drives.
To The Whore Who Took My Poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be money and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.
-- Charles Bukowski
Now check out this awesome clip from the acclaimed Bukowksi documentary "Born into This"
