Charles bukowski

Sisyphe · Posté le: Ven Nov 03, 2006 10:56 am Sujet du message: Charles bukowski

Bonjour à tous,

Je voulais ouvrir un topic sur la poésie de Charles Bukowski, savoir un petit peu ce que vous en pensez.
Sa poésie ne m'a jamais laissé indifférent. Elle est souvent alcoolisée, vulgaire parfois, très personnelle et très autobiographique, et le style est complètement libre. Sur certain poème, on sent qu’il « lâche » ces pensées sur sa feuille, sans s’occuper réellement du résultat. Mais je trouve qu’il se dégage toujours quelque chose de poétique et de touchant.

Alors, Bukowski, poète, usurpateur, mythomane, alcoolique banal?
Voici quelques uns de ces poèmes que j’aime bien

PS : si vous n’avez pas d’opinion, ou rien à dire, rajouter alors un poème de votre choix...

one thirty-six a.m.

I laugh sometimes when I think about
say
Céline at a typewriter
or Dostoevsky...
or Hamsun...
ordinary men with feet, ears, eyes,
ordinary men with hair on their heads
sitting there typing words
while having difficulties with life
while being puzzled almost to madness.

Dostoevsky gets up
he leaves the machine to piss,
comes back
drinks a glass of milk and thinks about
the casino and
the roulette wheel.

Céline stops, gets up, walks to the
window, looks out, thinks, my last patient
died today, I won't have to make any more
visits there.
when I saw him last
he paid his doctor bill;
it's those who don't pay their bills,
they live on and on.
Céline walks back, sits down at the
machine
is still for a good two minutes
then begins to type.

Hamsun stands over his machine thinking,
I wonder if they are going to believe
all these things I write?
he sits down, begins to type.
he doesn't know what a writer's block
is:
he's a prolific son-of-a-bitch
damn near as magnificent as
the sun.
he types away.

and I laugh
not out loud
but all up and down these walls, these
dirty yellow and blue walls
my white cat asleep on the
table
hiding his eyes from the
light.

he's not alone tonight
and neither am
I.

it was just a little while ago

almost dawn
blackbirds on the telephone wire
waiting
as I eat yesterday's
forgotten sandwich
at 6 a.m.
an a quiet Sunday morning.

one shoe in the corner
standing upright
the other laying on it's
side.

yes, some lives were made to be
wasted.

a smile to remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week
while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"

and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw

one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled

abd · Membre Inscrit le: 08 Aoû 2006 Messages: 293

Sisyphe · Posté le: Ven Nov 03, 2006 20:31 pm Sujet du message:

beer

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

jkounine · Membre Inscrit le: 04 Oct 2006 Messages: 384

Ouais il est tres bon si tu veux je tenvoi le lien dune partie de sa correspondance avec chepluki par un inconnu. Le lien est cool y a plein de texte lut.

abd · Membre Inscrit le: 08 Aoû 2006 Messages: 293

je veux bien le lien.
on peut mettre des passages de ses nouvelles aussi dans le topic ?

jkounine · Membre Inscrit le: 04 Oct 2006 Messages: 384

je tenvois. Au passae une citation de Bukowski:

"L'esclavage n'a jamais ete aboli, il a seulement ete elargi pour y inclure toutes les autres couleurs."

Nitschewo · Membre Inscrit le: 07 Fév 2006 Messages: 451

Marquise · Posté le: Lun Nov 06, 2006 18:13 pm Sujet du message:

"I've never seen an abominable snowman
But if I was to see one
I wish it would be a wee one"

(de mémoire, alors peut-être pas exact, c'est de Ogden Nash)