"...his Malibu broads were like his poems: they never arrived"- From "The White Poets"After reading Pulp I felt somewhat alienated and disenchanted by his particular brand of dirty realism and felt as though a sizable chunk of criticism leveled on him as being a one trick pony might have been justifiably apt. However in this collection the rawness of the poetry removes a massive amount of narrative sludge that sticks to a lot of his novels and provides the drunken maxims and portent horse racing tales into small digestible segments that really work. It's the same subject matter as nearly every other poetry collection he has done before though and so the various glimpses we are subjected to of urbanized poverty in lowlife America is glimpses we have stared at long and hard already for a long time. Part of the rawness isn't simply the content of the work but the presentation of it on the page which is really messy and punctuated poorly. It reads like a typewritten manuscript that needs various amendments to fully work as publishable content. I think this also benefits the entire project though as it feels like literary voyeurism at times and the poetic narration takes on an extra bite due to it's imperfections as written form. There is also something to be said however that his glorification of the rotting underbelly of life really gets tiresome, frustrating and boring after we hear incessantly of the inherent genius of the booze hound who beats his wife. He is the anti-hero of his own writing world who always wins overcoming overwhelming odds or losing in grace and overzealous, impulsive fashion. This construction of an impoverished deity is almost cartoon like and it appeals to our immediate sensibilities as literary consumers, we like the underdog prevailing against the man.This book also features well known and often misquoted bukowski poems such as the shoelace, the last days of the suicide kid, style and the shower (abridged version linked). It's in these pieces and in many others that his writing exudes a mimetic quality that allows the reader to fully experience him, it never feels distant or ever obsolescent. There remains core truths about existential angst and suffering that is expressed through our really primitive addictions, stupidity and loss. All of which are expressed here in this relatively poignant and simplistic parallel universe that is now the institutionalized bukowski mythos, that is as much a piece of poetry as his actual writing was. However when his writing is 'good', it's very resonant and powerful in it's delivery, especially when he sutures many differing and often opposite understandings into singular pieces and speaks of them as though it's self evident. The gambler is revered and ritualized, the alcoholic is a martyr for life and the whore is a greek goddess.
It's funny. I mean, I'm a Bukowski fan, but I rate all his books at 4 stars, even when he is my favorite writer. So, this book is about Bukowski, his poetry, his life, his girls, his drunkness. I don't consider this book as an essential reader, but, if you are into the old Buk, pic it up, it will not disappoint you.The thing with Buk, is that his books seem incomplete, have a rotten smell of imperfection and low life. And that's the main reason he is my favorite writer. He doesn't try to be perfect, he doesn't try to be Neruda, or Lorca, or Borges, or Whitman, he is simply Bukowski. I read a lot of books, sci-fi, realism, non-fiction,and most of them are good stories. But, when I read Buk, he doesn't write just a good story, he writes my story. I feel really close to him in some many ways, while in others I feel so distant, but, the kind of intimacy that I get when I read him, I didn't found it with another writer.Bukowski is not for the clean asses rich boys of mom and daddy. He is dirty, he is nasty, and he just masturbate over society.
Do You like book Mockingbird Wish Me Luck (2002)?
As is often the case with Bukowski, one must trudge through the myriad of uninspired anecdotal accounts disguised as poetry through the force of unorthodox formatting and grammar, to find the few gems that make his books actually worth reading. A case can be made in favor of his prolificity, especially as an example to less confident aspiring writers, that so much mediocrity may be swept into publishing by the sheer torrential force of a few strokes of gushing genius. Personally, a smaller, more concise body of work maintaining a higher level of quality would leave me much more impressed. However it may just be the case that, in such an amalgam of things thrown together, there is at least one poem in this book for everyone. 2,5 turned 3.
—Rita Telhada
After many months' immersion in mostly dense prose, I was exhilarated to read Bukowski's straightforward poems. This is one of his lauded collections, rightly so. War, women, gambling, drinking, looking out the window, and reading and writing are rich subjects for him. I had read his novels, but only one other book of poems, so this merrily fell my way to remind me how much more territory I have to explore with Buk.chilled greenwhat is it?an old woman, fat, yellow dress,torn stockingssitting on the curbingwith a little boy.98 degrees at 3 in the afternoonit seemsobscene.but look, they are calm,almost happy,they eat the green jelloand the red roses shine.
—Eric Cartier
I have been reading Bukowski for years, but this is the first book of poetry I've read from him. Some poems were bittersweet, others harsh and grating. I liked the book, although, not being an avid poetry reader, can't say if it was good or bad. Simply, I liked it and there were some good insights into life and writing.***Buk has inspired me to read more poetry and write it as well. This book was better the second time around. (I'm reading all of Buk's books by publication date. I'm almost done with my collection.)
—Michael X
