Discussion:
Charles Bukowski: "Don't try."
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Will Dockery
2004-06-10 15:18:16 UTC
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[A good article from the archives]:

On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
ago this month.

The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
visit him: ``Don't try.''

Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
poetic intemperance.

In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
(``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.

Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
year for the next five years.

Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
truth.

He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
legend grows, sustained by a body of work
so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.

He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.

An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
So does an Irish rock star.

To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.

To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
her heart.

There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.

The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
nine says this:

``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
first, he is the great man.

``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
gone.''

There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.

Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
to a friend:

``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
something worse.''

And those who loved him became disciples.

Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
son.''

He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
him with a razor strap.

At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.

To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
decades) wrote:

``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
who live 10 lives.''

That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
novels, recordings and even paintings.

But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.

In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
single-minded Bukowski reader:

those who would write like bukowski

know that he, as a young man, loved

classical music, wrote every day,

read world literature, supported himself

without parental or government assistance,

and drank a lot.

but when it comes to modeling themselves

on him as writers

they tend to forget everything

except the drinking.

In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
and capricious punishment by his father.

A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
childish indiscretions.

The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.

His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.

But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
liquor, Bukowski was no bum.

His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
but millions found meaningful.

``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''

Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''

Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''

In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.

We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?

He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.

Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.

And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
presence
everywhere:

``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
sandpaper exterior would suggest.

One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:

``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''

``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
at the Glide
'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.

``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
humans.''

He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.

Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
obscure poverty.

During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:

``I don't see what you see in the guy.''

Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''

And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.

``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
have to be love, death, war.''

It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.

Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
like me.'''

Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
Bukowski.

``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
a rosy picture of his own gender.''

Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
is where the best poetry comes from.''

To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
love ...''

He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.

``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
in Santa Rosa.

``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
who has made substantial money just off royalties.''

Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
previously unpublished work.

``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''

`Don't try.''

Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
refers to as another room of the house.

``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''

He tried. He did.

And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.

We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
leave
him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.

``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''

(c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).

... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
comes close.
ggamble
2004-06-11 04:36:43 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 10 Jun 2004 08:18:16 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
wrote:

>
>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>comes close.



So, you're exhaustively well read in 20th century poetry then?



Didin't
fucken
think so.
Michael Cook
2004-06-11 08:25:28 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
news:***@4ax.com...
> On 10 Jun 2004 08:18:16 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
> wrote:
>
> >
> >... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but
nobody
> >comes close.
>
>
>
> So, you're exhaustively well read in 20th century poetry then?
>
>
>
> Didin't
> fucken
> think so.

http://www.net-kooks.org/photo1.htm

Dockery says
"Get more Chuck for the buck"

Dockery introduces the chuckeroni pizza.
Pepperoni prepared by a special process
and pressed into the image of chuck.

The Chuckeroni
A heapin helping of chuckeroni
a smidgen of that good Old` red Alabama clay
and cheese imported all the way from Mississippi
make up this culinary delight, so don't miss out on
his introductory offer:
One Chuckeroni deluxe, a 64 ounce RC Cola,
served in a keepsake NASCAR jug (soon to be a collectors item)
and delivered in three days or less or the chuckeroni is on Doc!
all for the amazingly low price of $29.50
janet santana
2004-06-12 00:09:02 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Michael Cook" <***@ameritech.net> wrote in message news:<***@news.supernews.com>...
> "ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
> news:***@4ax.com...
> > On 10 Jun 2004 08:18:16 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
> > wrote:
> >
> > >
> > >... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but
> nobody
> > >comes close.
> >
> >
> >
> > So, you're exhaustively well read in 20th century poetry then?
> >
> >
> >
> > Didin't
> > fucken
> > think so.
>
> http://www.net-kooks.org/photo1.htm
>
> Dockery says
> "Get more Chuck for the buck"
>
> Dockery introduces the chuckeroni pizza.
> Pepperoni prepared by a special process
> and pressed into the image of chuck.
>
> The Chuckeroni
> A heapin helping of chuckeroni
> a smidgen of that good Old` red Alabama clay
> and cheese imported all the way from Mississippi
> make up this culinary delight, so don't miss out on
> his introductory offer:
> One Chuckeroni deluxe, a 64 ounce RC Cola,
> served in a keepsake NASCAR jug (soon to be a collectors item)
> and delivered in three days or less or the chuckeroni is on Doc!
> all for the amazingly low price of $29.50

Still a coward?
Casabianca
2004-06-11 14:30:18 UTC
Reply
Permalink
ggamble <***@excite.com> wrote:

>On 10 Jun 2004 08:18:16 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
>wrote:
>
>>
>>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>>comes close.
>
>
>
>So, you're exhaustively well read in 20th century poetry then?
>
>
>
>Didin't
>fucken
>think so.
>
>

I am unclear what makes Bukowski's works 'poetry'. They lack rhyme,
meter, rhythm, imagery, metaphor, and all the other literary devices
normally associated with the genre. Putrid prose? Drunken ramblings of
an illiterate hack? Well, sure.

CB
Art
2004-06-11 13:37:33 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Will Dockery wrote:
>
> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''

Blah blah, they luved him in Europe, blah blah.

"Barfly" was one of the worst movies of the 20th Century--Europe can
have him. Worshiping bromides was, in fact, the Great Pastime. And still
is, of course.

"putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.

who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.

as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.

still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin."

Right up there with Jim Morrison, no doubt.

In the genre, Leonard Cohen's more to my taste.

---
Art
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 21:42:09 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:

> >*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.
>
> if only you'd post some.

Here ya go, JR, although you may have seen this one already:

> > > > > > > > > Left Handed Summer.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Left handed Summer,
> > > > > > > > > Alias Uncle Hugo,
> > > > > > > > > I step out into this night.
> > > > > > > > > Those parasites know of the light that failed,
> > > > > > > > > imploded in the center of op bop,
> > > > > > > > > in this shadow made by blooming springtime.
> > > > > > > > > In this shadow, next to this last temptation,
> > > > > > > > > I walked into your door,
> > > > > > > > > will I never see her no more?
> > > > > > > > > I see two little red boxcars, I think of her,
> > > > > > > > > I hurt inside, a hallowed ache.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Games people play,
> > > > > > > > > one game on the house,
> > > > > > > > > dark angel in green.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Every little trick she plays, scarecrow straw Janie,
> > > > > > > > > there are three names now for Lady Katherine,
> > > > > > > > > I saw the way...
> > > > > > > > > remember the living lotus in her paste up hell,
> > > > > > > > > I am the clown on the hill,
> > > > > > > > > she still plys her trade in the sportin' house grocery.
> > > > > > > > > I read the bio of her husband, the ogre,
> > > > > > > > > his world, his fame, his flame.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > And I think of: star money, secret star, sweet Jane, superstar.
> > > > > > > > > Star mama, some glad morning you are my sattelite soul mate.
> > > > > > > > > On Vinegar Hill, mariage a la mode, a case of need,
> > > > > > > > > the bottom line, in deep Summer,
> > > > > > > > > endless horisons.
> > > > > > > > > We hunt the spirit mammoth somewhere below the salt.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > This is the story of a secret state, in this left handed Summer,
> > > > > > > > > in this valley of vines,
> > > > > > > > > sweet Lasher went swimming,
> > > > > > > > > in the dark river with a bad man, in the big heat,
> > > > > > > > > tigers in the smoke, she rides the red dragon.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Too many cousins dancing naked in La Grange,
> > > > > > > > > she's one of 7 born again virgins,
> > > > > > > > > she steps out, she is lost to me,
> > > > > > > > > that strange woman, she's into sould bonding, soul bondage,
> > > > > > > > > where is my red curled poltergeist, she's clocked,
> > > > > > > > > boom boom in my ear.
> > > > > > > > > Some Japanese thing,
> > > > > > > > > Lone Wolf, I snarl at the moon.
> > > > > > > > > Moonchild experiment,
> > > > > > > > > watercolor in the rain ---
> > > > > > > > > you poor little kidnapped angel...
> > > > > > > > > my poor little clap trap angel.
> > > > > > > > > My soul like riptide water,
> > > > > > > > > this abundance of witches,
> > > > > > > > > you living lotus bitches.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Uncle Hugo is in Eden,
> > > > > > > > > the old folks home of joy and poems,
> > > > > > > > > dwelling with this ever present danger,
> > > > > > > > > to the magic store on some blinded date.
> > > > > > > > > Into her labyrinth and back out again,
> > > > > > > > > sweet soul pilgrim, I know, my love,
> > > > > > > > > I can hear her battle cry.
> > > > > > > > > She returns to life, cries for the angels,
> > > > > > > > > a word shogun,
> > > > > > > > > my daddy went blind at 40
> > > > > > > > > but my will is good on this glorious morning.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Bless your fuzzy little heart, baby, go sow your seed of mischief.
> > > > > > > > > The doomsday ladies hide and go seek,
> > > > > > > > > as they work their science,
> > > > > > > > > I asked my love, Dark Queenie,
> > > > > > > > > will you talk in this left handed Summer?
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Hard facts, a woman run mad,
> > > > > > > > > in the caves,
> > > > > > > > > on the hill,
> > > > > > > > > under the sheets experimenting with the moon.
> > > > > > > > > I keep the search light burning.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Face to face with the misty tiger in the smoke,
> > > > > > > > > she rides the red dragon,
> > > > > > > > > orphan daughter of the philosospher,
> > > > > > > > > for common good,
> > > > > > > > > a fiend in need, she is a perfect whirlwind.
> > > > > > > > > Inhuman condition, I am alone for days,
> > > > > > > > > I am nothing to her now,
> > > > > > > > > the ongoing silence is driving me mad.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Her mirror mirror on the wall,
> > > > > > > > > my fingers in her soft places,
> > > > > > > > > her modern methematics,
> > > > > > > > > her pager number,
> > > > > > > > > I light the candle for her
> > > > > > > > > and this big old world of people.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Silver leopard led astray from a magnificent destiny,
> > > > > > > > > I am the foolish virgin with my magnificent obsession,
> > > > > > > > > law of the lion, I'll find her.
> > > > > > > > > Bright feather, hot leather,
> > > > > > > > > magicians of night and sittin' ducks,
> > > > > > > > > loaded dice,
> > > > > > > > > she is there in that secret shadow valley,
> > > > > > > > > sweet adultery under the moon.
> > > > > > > > > The Dark Queen's gift, a riddle.
> > > > > > > > > Please speak to me before the sun goes down,
> > > > > > > > > the children of the rainbow do the dark dance.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > -Will Dockery, 1998 (c)2004

> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> Zombie last night."
> Roky Erikson
> ------------------------------------------------------------------

> > [A good article from the archives]:
> >
> > On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> > whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> > status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> > ago this month.
> >
> > The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> > visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Blah blah, they luved him in Europe, blah blah.
>
> "Barfly" was one of the worst movies of the 20th Century--Europe can
> have him. Worshiping bromides was, in fact, the Great Pastime. And still
> is, of course.
>
> "putting the blade on the table, he
> flicked it with a finger
> and it whirled
> in a flashing circle
> under the light.
>
> who the hell is going to save
> me? he
> thought.
>
> as the knife stopped spinning
> the answer came:
> you're going to have to
> save yourself.
>
> still smiling,
> a: he lit a
> cigarette
> b: he poured
> another
> drink
> c: gave the blade
> another
> spin."
>
> Right up there with Jim Morrison, no doubt.
>
> In the genre, Leonard Cohen's more to my taste.
>
> ---
> Art
j r sherman
2004-06-11 22:04:20 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
says...
>
>j r sherman wrote:
>
>> >*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.
>>
>> if only you'd post some.
>
>Here ya go, JR, although you may have seen this one already:

yes, but why are you calling it a poem?

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
j r sherman
2004-06-11 15:25:45 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
says...


>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>comes close.

to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you have never read
any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any poetry, or a
man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza at age 50+,
would make such a statement.

why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
Dale Houstman
2004-06-11 15:54:04 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:
> In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
> says...
>
>
>
>>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>>comes close.
>
>
> to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you have never read
> any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any poetry, or a
> man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza at age 50+,
> would make such a statement.
>
> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> Zombie last night."
> Roky Erikson
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>

Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps "embarrassing"
himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.

dmh
j r sherman
2004-06-11 18:58:49 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@citilink.com>, Dale Houstman says...
>
>
>
>j r sherman wrote:
>> In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
>> says...
>>
>>
>>
>>>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>>>comes close.
>>
>>
>>to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you have never read
>>any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any poetry, or a
>>man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza at age 50+,
>> would make such a statement.
>>
>> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
>>
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>> Zombie last night."
>> Roky Erikson
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>>
>
>Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps "embarrassing"
>himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
>wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
>
>dmh

i know that Dale, but what if someone said to you: "i think blacks are exactly
like apes swinging in the trees, and the reason you don't see that many black
people hiking in the mountains is because black people don't want to be reminded
of how they used to swing through trees!"

now that's really a moronic statement for someone to make, as well you know.

well, would you simply let such a comment pass by without at least saying
something? of course you wouldn't.

well, moron-king posted an opinion i think is just as stupid as the above sample
statement. and what if someone read that statement, someone perhaps not as
versed in poetry as we are, and thought:

"yeah, Bukowski could be the greatest poet of the 20th century! i think i'll
tell others this same thing!"

and before you know it we might have hundreds or maybe thousands of people
saying this exact same thing.

shouldn't smart people, like you and me, do something to prevent the spread of
epic stupidity? of course we should. and that is what i'm trying to do. prevent
the spread of epic stupidity.

i know where your coming from, Dale, but something need to be addressed.

smart people of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but the moronic
statements of really stupid people like dockery!

love and kisses,

j r

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-11 22:26:30 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:
>
> In article <***@citilink.com>, Dale Houstman says...
> >
> >
> >
> >j r sherman wrote:
> >> In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
> >> says...
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> >>>comes close.
> >>
> >>
> >>to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you have never read
> >>any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any poetry, or a
> >>man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza at age 50+,
> >> would make such a statement.
> >>
> >> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
> >>
> >> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> >> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> >> Zombie last night."
> >> Roky Erikson
> >> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> >>
> >
> >Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps "embarrassing"
> >himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
> >wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
> >
> >dmh
>
> i know that Dale, but what if someone said to you: "i think blacks are exactly
> like apes swinging in the trees, and the reason you don't see that many black
> people hiking in the mountains is because black people don't want to be reminded
> of how they used to swing through trees!"
>
> now that's really a moronic statement for someone to make, as well you know.
>
> well, would you simply let such a comment pass by without at least saying
> something? of course you wouldn't.
>
> well, moron-king posted an opinion i think is just as stupid as the above sample
> statement. and what if someone read that statement, someone perhaps not as
> versed in poetry as we are, and thought:
>
> "yeah, Bukowski could be the greatest poet of the 20th century! i think i'll
> tell others this same thing!"
>
> and before you know it we might have hundreds or maybe thousands of people
> saying this exact same thing.
>
> shouldn't smart people, like you and me, do something to prevent the spread of
> epic stupidity? of course we should. and that is what i'm trying to do. prevent
> the spread of epic stupidity.
>
> i know where your coming from, Dale, but something need to be addressed.
>
> smart people of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but the moronic
> statements of really stupid people like dockery!
>
> love and kisses,
>
> j r

But Bukowski /is/ the greatest poet of the 20th Century.
The streams and volumes of his unspeakable vomit /prove/ that the
streams and volumes of Dockery's unspeakable shit are Really
PO-etry.
For the somewhat less ambitious, there were the Proofs of Billy
Collins.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Dale Houstman
2004-06-12 08:15:12 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:
> In article <***@citilink.com>, Dale Houstman says...
>
>>

>>
>>Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps "embarrassing"
>>himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
>>wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
>>
>>dmh
>
>
> i know that Dale, but what if someone said to you: "i think blacks are exactly
> like apes swinging in the trees, and the reason you don't see that many black
> people hiking in the mountains is because black people don't want to be reminded
> of how they used to swing through trees!"
>
> now that's really a moronic statement for someone to make, as well you know.
>
> well, would you simply let such a comment pass by without at least saying
> something? of course you wouldn't.

Honestly, it really depends. The above statement - of course - is
racist; Will's is only stupid. But even if Will were pouring on the old
Hitler juice, I wouldn't give him the time of day, because (1) It
wouldn't make any difference to anyone with half a brain already and (2)
It is obvious Will only does what he does for the attention.

>
> well, moron-king posted an opinion i think is just as stupid as the above sample
> statement. and what if someone read that statement, someone perhaps not as
> versed in poetry as we are, and thought:
>
> "yeah, Bukowski could be the greatest poet of the 20th century! i think i'll
> tell others this same thing!"

Well, that's that. One or two more half-wits won't make much difference
in a world run by quarter-wits. Who's REALLY got time to be out there
patrolling the perimeters of Dumbville?

>
> and before you know it we might have hundreds or maybe thousands of people
> saying this exact same thing.

And it still wouldn't be true, even if Will meant it in the first place.
So? Most people in any age are dumber than a paper crowbar. Not my
problem, if only because my friends are more fascinating by far, and
there are always more intelligent folks to be found, who have - for
instance - taken the time to read for themselves and formed an opinion
not burped forth on a newsgroup by a sunbaked algae. and - as far as I
can see - there are already PLENTY of people who DO think the Buke is
worth purchasing, and probably find him charming as a gift-wrapped
kitten in a snowstorm. So? The only problem HERE is that so much
attention is given to the likes of Tom and Will, whose only fault is
that they require too much attention. Their opinions- as such - don't
mean anything: they are empty signifiers at best. The CONTENT is quite
beside-the-point, and only their presence is irksome. Pretending they
are dead is - frankly - more enjoyable than pretending their statements
are worth noting, pro or con. If the next "KittyMeHungry" or
"TeflonBWarriorCake" is so bollixed as to think the god-awful style of
those two (and their anal worms) is actually hiding an intelligent
intent, well they're lost to the eau de vacuum anywya. So fuck'em.

>
> shouldn't smart people, like you and me, do something to prevent the spread of
> epic stupidity? of course we should. and that is what i'm trying to do. prevent
> the spread of epic stupidity.

Go ahead, but - as far as the evidence goes - your brand of effort is
non-efficacious. It seems to satisfy you - so more power to you. But I
think one is fooling themselves to think it will lead to any great
benefit beyond personal-pleasure. That's adequate for some of course.

dmh
WDockery <>
2004-06-12 07:15:36 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Dale Houstman wrote:

> Well, that's that. One or two more half-wits

*snip*

> If the next "KittyMeHungry" or
> "TeflonBWarriorCake" is so bollixed

*snip*

> That's adequate for some of course.

Yeah, and this poem, below, is really *really* so much better than Bukowski, right? You just may be an idiot, Dale:

Two Little Things
_________________

1.

Night, a letter, only
its sans serif peak encased
in pale metallic threads
wandered away
upon a boat’s reflection
full of anxious waiters
and haloed suitcases stacked
under the blue trees
which are literary
like varnished ropes.

2.

Day, a bloodstain
on the schoolgirl’s pigtail
maybe it’s a violin
embedded in a hand
an ornamental nova
or not
a van full of roses
bulging in a grocery bag
or not

-Dale Houstman






----------
Sent via SPRACI - http://www.spraci.net/ - Parties,Raves,Clubs,Festivals
Peter J Ross
2004-06-14 02:39:55 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 10:54:04 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:

> j r sherman wrote:
>
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>> Zombie last night."
>> Roky Erikson
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>>
>
> Good song.

I don't know it. I'm rather fond of Dave Edmunds's "The Creature from
the Black Lagoon". I certainly sing it in the bath often enough.

It's certainly better than anything Bukowski even dreamed of writing.
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Dale Houstman
2004-06-14 12:49:53 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Peter J Ross wrote:
> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 10:54:04 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:
>
>
>>j r sherman wrote:
>>
>>
>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>>>Zombie last night."
>>> Roky Erikson
>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>
>>
>>Good song.
>
>
> I don't know it. I'm rather fond of Dave Edmunds's "The Creature from
> the Black Lagoon". I certainly sing it in the bath often enough.

Dave is a great - mainly unnoticed - rocker. His ex-partner, Nick Lowe,
has a much higher profile, and has done one fine album after another,
although I still like one of his earliest best: "Jesus of Cool."

The Roky song is from a collection that is mostly songs with titles
carped from old horror/sci-fi movies, such as "Man With the Atomic
Brain." The Zombie song is really a tune about a very bad date.

>
> It's certainly better than anything Bukowski even dreamed of writing.

I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.

dmh
Will Dockery
2004-06-14 18:21:54 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Tom Bishop" wrote:

> **** Seems to be a decent amount of them in your town. We should check
> them out [of course you don't *have* to get up and read... I'm the
> only person I know who *has* to do these things... my cross to bear]
>
>
> ### Depending I can read but not that big a deal. I would read
> some GMH probably, or perhaps some Hammes if he consented.
>
> and get digital photos,
>
>
> ### I have a 2 megapixel Sony with Carl Zeiss lens.
>
> > and try to get your local folks involved in
> these groups. I don't, of course, know what sorts of poets we'll meet
> at these places, but I imagine it's not *that* different from other
> places. Always seem to meet a couple of nice folks, at least, at
> poetry readings. And fell in love more than a couple of times, but
> that's something *not* to look for... focusing on such things can put
> the kibosh on 'em.
>
> ### Mendo is friendly enough, but you tell me after you see it.
>
> We just show up, get a table by the wall... and the
> folks outside smoking cigarettes are--- hold it! California didn't
> pass some fucked up ban on cigarette smoking yet, did they???
>
>
> ### No tobacco inside most places.
> (like my house...)
> I suppose you could smoke tobacco in the carport
> or in the back or side yard. It is shady and quiet. :-)

That works for me, I'll find nice spots to kick back and have a smoke.
You probably know, I smoke a *lot*.

> My loud punk neighbors were just evicted and I've
> arranged with the landlord to find (and have) a person
> to rent the unit next to mine. Life is good. :-)
> ###
>
>
> > Obviously San Francisco, which I
> > understand is two hours below you
>
> Yes. We can visit jr and Renay for cucumber sandwiches..
>
> ### I was joking.

Of course.

> **** I speculate on this below... I'm replying to this post "bottom
> up" again... too bad it's virtually impossible that Renay and JRS
> would meet with us... I'd love it.
>
> ### Burp.
>
>
> > will have the real thing, and by
> > interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
> > what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
> > Shadowvillians.
>
> I suspect that you could be a piper anywhere.
>
> I can inquire around town about it a little.
>
> **** Your town seems pretty big on poetry, there's a link below. I
> like starting my own, if the circumstances are right. When I get to a
> new place, I like to wander the immediate area, getting a bead on the
> better places for buying cigarettes and beer, possible chance
> meeting/girl action, and just general checking out the energy.
>
> **** If lucky, there'll be a coffeeshop of some kind, or a bookstore,
> or something unexpected. Are you on the same street that Google has in
> it's archives [I won't repeat it here]?
>
> ###### Probably. I'm /in town/ and town is only a few miles across.

I'll have a look at the Yahoo map shortly.

> > I'm still working through the
> info the internet has on your area... I looked up the pizza joints
> there, and besides Little C's, the others are unfamiliar, apparently
> local pizza joints. We could go and check these at some point, so I
> can get some pictures, and possibly pick up some new pizza ideas to
> relay to Ben. A bit of innocent "cloak and daggar" stuff... pizza
> joints are also excellent potential poetry open mic spots. One pizza
> joint, Round Table, is interesting--- rather than the usual
> Italian/Sicilian promotion, they go for a "Camelot" theme. Wierd...
> Brits and pizza..?
>
> Round Table Pizza http://www.roundtablepizza.com/RTP/HI/
> 292 South State Street
> Ukiah, CA 95482
>
> Coffee Critic does some of that.
>
> ...the junior college has /things/.
>
> "...> Years ago, Round Table Pizza did have an Arthurian theme. There
> > were things like maces and armor faceplates on the walls, and
> > the menus had drawings of the ka-niggits sitting around eating
> > pizza. The pizza ovens were made by a company called Montague,
> > and the menu worked this into the lore by claiming that in
> > King Arthur's court, Montague was a friendly dragon whose fiery
> > breath cooked the pizzas... One day, in about 1961, a friend of Mr. Larsons > was eating pizza in the restaurant and started drawing the characters from > King Arthur's court, all eating pizza. Mr. Larson was so excited he adopted > the King Arthur Theme and started making the restaurants look like English > castles.The shields were added to the logo (the name) about 1970. There
> > are actually three shields and believe it or not, they symbolize the
> > letters "F", "U", "N", spelling FUN!"
>
> :-)
>
> > I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
> > closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
> > around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
> > bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
> > have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
> > the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
> > kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
> > scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
> > Jerry with digeridoo,
>
> Well this /is/ Jerry country. I know a girl who would brag she
> kissed his stump. The Dead moved from La Honda to Marin
> which is why I chose Marin when I first moved to CA and how
> right could I have been?
>
> **** I remember reading about her!
>
>
> > *there's always one in every town if you look
> > for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
> > met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
> > so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
> > playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
> > together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
> > 'round...
> >
> > "There's art,
> > Joseph on his bicycle,
> > grampa singing his heart out.
> > But my grampa's in heaven
> > with a ballpeen hammer,
> > breaking all the mirrors."
> >
> > here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
> > poems, always writ in red felt tip.
> >
> > "Electric fire blood,
> > remembering Megan's crystals,
> > spoken of in her poetry."
> >
> > These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
> > I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
> > edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
> > something. *sigh*
> >
> > Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
> > NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
> > University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
> > the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
> > a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
> > behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
> > front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
> > owners, Jarrod and Dawn,
> >
> > "Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
> > so I sit ---.
> > Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
> > with 70's soul blast,
> > fast and then it's gone."
> >
> > we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
> > first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
> > why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
> > poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
> > us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
> > I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
> > ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.
> >
> > It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
> > continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
> > re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
> > who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
> > Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
> > intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
> > fashion.
> >
> > A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
> > girlfriend, Angel:
> >
> > "Little Angel,
> > shaven and beautiful,
> > falls, smacks her behind on the cement
> > a couple of times.
> > She's mystical, punk,
> > and her magic transforms this street
> > to Bourbon Street."
> >
> > This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
> > YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.
> >
> > That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
> > everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
> > along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
> > academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
> > black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
> > turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
> > on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
> > down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
> > after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
> > undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
> > came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
> > freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
> > corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
> > kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
> > then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
> > house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
> > Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.
> >
> > The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
> > attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
> > with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
> > read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
> > or since had I seen this done, nice idea.
> >
> > Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
> > problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.
> >
> > Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.
>
> Light stuff really.
>
> **** I'll get all the details when we talk... btw, you don't by some
> chance have a spare computer, do you?
>
> ### All networked on the DSL.
> Twin processor running Windows Server 2000.
> ..other lesser machines litter the house. :-)
>
> I could possibly use you for various computer things
> associated with the Usenet Service, which might pay
> a sustaining salary that might be even greener.
> ####
>
>
> > That's probably one of my main
> things to consider when deciding over a fairly short airplane ride or
> a long three day bus trip. I'm obviously a full out, geeking Usenet
> addict, y'know... many days, including today, I typed until I passed
> out here in the big easychair, awoke, and went right back typing.
>
> Send me your phone number. I have a very cheap phone.
> (Which you can use while here) Call AL if you want.
>
> **** I'm off tommorow--- I'll email the # and call me then when I'll
> be more coherent.
>
> ### Just send me the time and number.
>
> Brother Dave made the trip to L.A. by bus a couple
> of years ago and it took something like three days--- he says an
> airplane would be worth the money, in time saved, less frustration, et
> cetera. I think he's right, probably: I'm a cheap bastard, but which
> am I cheaper with right *now*, time or money? I think time is more
> valuable to me right now, and on an airplane ride I'd be there, and
> learning in a matter of hours rather than drudging through every
> pathetic little Shadowville along the way.
>
> ### If you haven't done it, 'merica is worth a visit.
> I've hitchhiked from PA to CA several times, taken a bus
> all around and flown numerous others.
> One time I hitched from Philly to SF in under 4 days.
> That trip was a trip... I got some long haul rides
> from benzidrine drenched truckers.

When I was younger, yeah. There ain't no way in Hell I'd hitch hike
cross country, now. I'm working away from the beat stuff a bit, and
contrating on how to make a better, perhaps propery constructed poem.
I'm getting older by the minute, and comfort is important, more
important than tripping.

But I *will* ride the bus. Or airplane. That's enough Kerouac
wandering to last me *at least* the rest of the year...

> On the other hand, with the
> bus, obviously I'd have an extra slab of cash to spend when I finally
> arrive, plus the days on the bus, as I wrote last night, would give me
> long stretches of time to do my poetry studies, and apply what I learn
> to revision experiments on older poems-. And I'd have more cash to
> spend if we go to 'Frisco to visit Renay and JRS. The four of us
>
> ### We don't call it Frisco. It is considered very uncool.
> If you agree to not call it Frisco I might help with plane fare.
> Perhaps you could fly out and take a bus back? ..or vice versa.

Sure... sorry about the Frisco thing... I'm a lazy sod, and Frisco was
less letters to type, is all. Is "SF" okay with ya'll?

> should meet at an S.F. poetry reading, perhaps even video tape it...
> it would be an historical event the likes of which this newsgroup has
> rarely *if ever*, seen... too bad I have a feeling they'd be too
> afraid to meet with us.
>
> ### I have no interest in socializing with jr or renay.
> You are free to pursue it. Could borrow my car.
> I would possibly go down for Mt. Tam or other stuff.

No, like you, I was joking... you know they're terrified at the very
idea.

> **** I'll take a couple of days to think and decide.
>
> > I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
> > three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
> > break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
> > Shadowville *one more time*?
>
> Ukiah is quite small (16,000) but cheaper than the Bay Area and rated
> as one
> of the most desirable towns to live in.
>
> **** Yeah, I was reading up on it last night, things like no murders
> for years at a time. They write haiku at city meetings... Ukiah's got
> a Poet Laureate, an Indian chick...
>
> ### I'd poke into the poetry scene for a taste. I always figured
> that it would be largely shit like most assemblages of such sort.

Yeah... I think that's how I got voted Columbus Poet Of The Year in
1998, in the Playgrounds Magazine poll. My "assemblage" was probably
just a bit more "speakable" than the others in the running, plus
better looking.

Now that I've made my resolution to learn the basics of "craft",
"technique" and other important aspects of poetry that I never
bothered with, and once I can pinpoint a bad line of poetry, *and*
learn how to fix the little bastard, I feel I can't help but take a
few steps forward.

I don't expect my "voice" to change, and I expect the same subjects,
concepts and all that will be the same. What I want to work on is the,
package, the presentation [On paper. My stage presentation obviously
works, which is why I think I got away with writing so many bad lines,
and filler] my mission is to learn, if possible, something, as much as
I can, about "craft" and "technique".

I want to understand how to write better poetry, poetry that follows
the understood rules. It's not my intention to change my thoughts,
just get the thoughts out in a better form. A form that will be agreed
to be poetry.

There was a time when I thought hitch hiking cross country would
improve my poetry, and in some ways I'm sure it would: new influences,
and experience, which I still maintain is a very important part of
making a good poem. But what I need at this point is to read, to
study, to work--- the foundation, the framing. To build a better poem.

> There are probably some titties worth a google.

At least to my taste!

> " ...At the regular first Wednesday meeting (April 7, 2004) of the
> Ukiah
> City Council, Linda Noel was appointed the City of Ukiah's new Poet
> Laureate..."
>
> ### ...bless my green Mendocino home. :-)
>
> http://www.pressdemocrat.com/local/news/07profile_b1.html

It do look like a good place to be, Tom. Zero murders in how many
years..?

I'm curious... according to the population stats I read, you have
something like 3 black people in the town? I notice that you've got a
pretty decent Native American population, though. Including Linda
Noel, the City of Ukiah's new Poet Laureate! Not bad at all... but *3*
black people?!?
Adolf Hitler
2004-06-14 18:50:59 UTC
Reply
Permalink
**** Post for FREE via your newsreader at post.usenet.com ****

Will Dockery wrote:

> "Tom Bishop" wrote:
>
>
>>**** Seems to be a decent amount of them in your town. We should check
>>them out [of course you don't *have* to get up and read... I'm the
>>only person I know who *has* to do these things... my cross to bear]
>>
>>
>>### Depending I can read but not that big a deal. I would read
>> some GMH probably, or perhaps some Hammes if he consented.
>>
>>and get digital photos,
>>
>>
>>### I have a 2 megapixel Sony with Carl Zeiss lens.
>>
>>
>>>and try to get your local folks involved in
>>
>>these groups. I don't, of course, know what sorts of poets we'll meet
>>at these places, but I imagine it's not *that* different from other
>>places. Always seem to meet a couple of nice folks, at least, at
>>poetry readings. And fell in love more than a couple of times, but
>>that's something *not* to look for... focusing on such things can put
>>the kibosh on 'em.
>>
>>### Mendo is friendly enough, but you tell me after you see it.
>>
>>We just show up, get a table by the wall... and the
>>folks outside smoking cigarettes are--- hold it! California didn't
>>pass some fucked up ban on cigarette smoking yet, did they???
>>
>>
>>### No tobacco inside most places.
>> (like my house...)
>>I suppose you could smoke tobacco in the carport
>>or in the back or side yard. It is shady and quiet. :-)
>
>
> That works for me, I'll find nice spots to kick back and have a smoke.
> You probably know, I smoke a *lot*.
>
>
>>My loud punk neighbors were just evicted and I've
>>arranged with the landlord to find (and have) a person
>>to rent the unit next to mine. Life is good. :-)
>>###
>>
>>
>>
>>>Obviously San Francisco, which I
>>>understand is two hours below you
>>
>>Yes. We can visit jr and Renay for cucumber sandwiches..
>>
>>### I was joking.
>
>
> Of course.
>
>
>>**** I speculate on this below... I'm replying to this post "bottom
>>up" again... too bad it's virtually impossible that Renay and JRS
>>would meet with us... I'd love it.
>>
>>### Burp.
>>
>>
>>
>>>will have the real thing, and by
>>>interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
>>>what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
>>>Shadowvillians.
>>
>>I suspect that you could be a piper anywhere.
>>
>>I can inquire around town about it a little.
>>
>>**** Your town seems pretty big on poetry, there's a link below. I
>>like starting my own, if the circumstances are right. When I get to a
>>new place, I like to wander the immediate area, getting a bead on the
>>better places for buying cigarettes and beer, possible chance
>>meeting/girl action, and just general checking out the energy.
>>
>>**** If lucky, there'll be a coffeeshop of some kind, or a bookstore,
>>or something unexpected. Are you on the same street that Google has in
>>it's archives [I won't repeat it here]?
>>
>>###### Probably. I'm /in town/ and town is only a few miles across.
>
>
> I'll have a look at the Yahoo map shortly.
>
>
>>>I'm still working through the
>>
>>info the internet has on your area... I looked up the pizza joints
>>there, and besides Little C's, the others are unfamiliar, apparently
>>local pizza joints. We could go and check these at some point, so I
>>can get some pictures, and possibly pick up some new pizza ideas to
>>relay to Ben. A bit of innocent "cloak and daggar" stuff... pizza
>>joints are also excellent potential poetry open mic spots. One pizza
>>joint, Round Table, is interesting--- rather than the usual
>>Italian/Sicilian promotion, they go for a "Camelot" theme. Wierd...
>>Brits and pizza..?
>>
>>Round Table Pizza http://www.roundtablepizza.com/RTP/HI/
>>292 South State Street
>>Ukiah, CA 95482
>>
>>Coffee Critic does some of that.
>>
>>...the junior college has /things/.
>>
>>"...> Years ago, Round Table Pizza did have an Arthurian theme. There
>>
>>>were things like maces and armor faceplates on the walls, and
>>>the menus had drawings of the ka-niggits sitting around eating
>>>pizza. The pizza ovens were made by a company called Montague,
>>>and the menu worked this into the lore by claiming that in
>>>King Arthur's court, Montague was a friendly dragon whose fiery
>>>breath cooked the pizzas... One day, in about 1961, a friend of Mr. Larsons > was eating pizza in the restaurant and started drawing the characters from > King Arthur's court, all eating pizza. Mr. Larson was so excited he adopted > the King Arthur Theme and started making the restaurants look like English > castles.The shields were added to the logo (the name) about 1970. There
>>>are actually three shields and believe it or not, they symbolize the
>>>letters "F", "U", "N", spelling FUN!"
>>
>>:-)
>>
>>
>>>I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
>>>closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
>>>around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
>>>bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
>>>have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
>>>the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
>>>kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
>>>scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
>>>Jerry with digeridoo,
>>
>>Well this /is/ Jerry country. I know a girl who would brag she
>>kissed his stump. The Dead moved from La Honda to Marin
>>which is why I chose Marin when I first moved to CA and how
>>right could I have been?
>>
>>**** I remember reading about her!
>>
>>
>>
>>>*there's always one in every town if you look
>>>for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
>>>met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
>>>so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
>>>playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
>>>together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
>>>'round...
>>>
>>>"There's art,
>>>Joseph on his bicycle,
>>>grampa singing his heart out.
>>>But my grampa's in heaven
>>>with a ballpeen hammer,
>>>breaking all the mirrors."
>>>
>>>here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
>>>poems, always writ in red felt tip.
>>>
>>>"Electric fire blood,
>>>remembering Megan's crystals,
>>>spoken of in her poetry."
>>>
>>>These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
>>>I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
>>>edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
>>>something. *sigh*
>>>
>>>Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
>>>NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
>>>University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
>>>the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
>>>a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
>>>behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
>>>front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
>>>owners, Jarrod and Dawn,
>>>
>>>"Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
>>>so I sit ---.
>>>Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
>>>with 70's soul blast,
>>>fast and then it's gone."
>>>
>>>we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
>>>first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
>>>why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
>>>poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
>>>us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
>>>I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
>>>ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.
>>>
>>>It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
>>>continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
>>>re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
>>>who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
>>>Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
>>>intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
>>>fashion.
>>>
>>>A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
>>>girlfriend, Angel:
>>>
>>>"Little Angel,
>>>shaven and beautiful,
>>>falls, smacks her behind on the cement
>>>a couple of times.
>>>She's mystical, punk,
>>>and her magic transforms this street
>>>to Bourbon Street."
>>>
>>>This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
>>>YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.
>>>
>>>That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
>>>everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
>>>along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
>>>academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
>>>black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
>>>turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
>>>on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
>>>down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
>>>after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
>>>undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
>>>came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
>>>freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
>>>corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
>>>kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
>>>then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
>>>house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
>>>Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.
>>>
>>>The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
>>>attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
>>>with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
>>>read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
>>>or since had I seen this done, nice idea.
>>>
>>>Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
>>>problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.
>>>
>>>Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.
>>
>>Light stuff really.
>>
>>**** I'll get all the details when we talk... btw, you don't by some
>>chance have a spare computer, do you?
>>
>>### All networked on the DSL.
>> Twin processor running Windows Server 2000.
>> ..other lesser machines litter the house. :-)
>>
>> I could possibly use you for various computer things
>>associated with the Usenet Service, which might pay
>>a sustaining salary that might be even greener.
>>####
>>
>>
>>
>>>That's probably one of my main
>>
>>things to consider when deciding over a fairly short airplane ride or
>>a long three day bus trip. I'm obviously a full out, geeking Usenet
>>addict, y'know... many days, including today, I typed until I passed
>>out here in the big easychair, awoke, and went right back typing.
>>
>>Send me your phone number. I have a very cheap phone.
>>(Which you can use while here) Call AL if you want.
>>
>>**** I'm off tommorow--- I'll email the # and call me then when I'll
>>be more coherent.
>>
>>### Just send me the time and number.
>>
>>Brother Dave made the trip to L.A. by bus a couple
>>of years ago and it took something like three days--- he says an
>>airplane would be worth the money, in time saved, less frustration, et
>>cetera. I think he's right, probably: I'm a cheap bastard, but which
>>am I cheaper with right *now*, time or money? I think time is more
>>valuable to me right now, and on an airplane ride I'd be there, and
>>learning in a matter of hours rather than drudging through every
>>pathetic little Shadowville along the way.
>>
>>### If you haven't done it, 'merica is worth a visit.
>> I've hitchhiked from PA to CA several times, taken a bus
>> all around and flown numerous others.
>> One time I hitched from Philly to SF in under 4 days.
>> That trip was a trip... I got some long haul rides
>> from benzidrine drenched truckers.
>
>
> When I was younger, yeah. There ain't no way in Hell I'd hitch hike
> cross country, now. I'm working away from the beat stuff a bit, and
> contrating on how to make a better, perhaps propery constructed poem.
> I'm getting older by the minute, and comfort is important, more
> important than tripping.
>
> But I *will* ride the bus. Or airplane. That's enough Kerouac
> wandering to last me *at least* the rest of the year...
>
>
>>On the other hand, with the
>>bus, obviously I'd have an extra slab of cash to spend when I finally
>>arrive, plus the days on the bus, as I wrote last night, would give me
>>long stretches of time to do my poetry studies, and apply what I learn
>>to revision experiments on older poems-. And I'd have more cash to
>>spend if we go to 'Frisco to visit Renay and JRS. The four of us
>>
>>### We don't call it Frisco. It is considered very uncool.
>> If you agree to not call it Frisco I might help with plane fare.
>> Perhaps you could fly out and take a bus back? ..or vice versa.
>
>
> Sure... sorry about the Frisco thing... I'm a lazy sod, and Frisco was
> less letters to type, is all. Is "SF" okay with ya'll?
>
>
>>should meet at an S.F. poetry reading, perhaps even video tape it...
>>it would be an historical event the likes of which this newsgroup has
>>rarely *if ever*, seen... too bad I have a feeling they'd be too
>>afraid to meet with us.
>>
>>### I have no interest in socializing with jr or renay.
>> You are free to pursue it. Could borrow my car.
>> I would possibly go down for Mt. Tam or other stuff.
>
>
> No, like you, I was joking... you know they're terrified at the very
> idea.
>
>
>>**** I'll take a couple of days to think and decide.
>>
>>
>>>I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
>>>three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
>>>break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
>>>Shadowville *one more time*?
>>
>>Ukiah is quite small (16,000) but cheaper than the Bay Area and rated
>>as one
>>of the most desirable towns to live in.
>>
>>**** Yeah, I was reading up on it last night, things like no murders
>>for years at a time. They write haiku at city meetings... Ukiah's got
>>a Poet Laureate, an Indian chick...
>>
>>### I'd poke into the poetry scene for a taste. I always figured
>> that it would be largely shit like most assemblages of such sort.
>
>
> Yeah... I think that's how I got voted Columbus Poet Of The Year in
> 1998, in the Playgrounds Magazine poll. My "assemblage" was probably
> just a bit more "speakable" than the others in the running, plus
> better looking.
>
> Now that I've made my resolution to learn the basics of "craft",
> "technique" and other important aspects of poetry that I never
> bothered with, and once I can pinpoint a bad line of poetry, *and*
> learn how to fix the little bastard, I feel I can't help but take a
> few steps forward.
>
> I don't expect my "voice" to change, and I expect the same subjects,
> concepts and all that will be the same. What I want to work on is the,
> package, the presentation [On paper. My stage presentation obviously
> works, which is why I think I got away with writing so many bad lines,
> and filler] my mission is to learn, if possible, something, as much as
> I can, about "craft" and "technique".
>
> I want to understand how to write better poetry, poetry that follows
> the understood rules. It's not my intention to change my thoughts,
> just get the thoughts out in a better form. A form that will be agreed
> to be poetry.
>
> There was a time when I thought hitch hiking cross country would
> improve my poetry, and in some ways I'm sure it would: new influences,
> and experience, which I still maintain is a very important part of
> making a good poem. But what I need at this point is to read, to
> study, to work--- the foundation, the framing. To build a better poem.
>
>
>> There are probably some titties worth a google.
>
>
> At least to my taste!
>
>
>>" ...At the regular first Wednesday meeting (April 7, 2004) of the
>>Ukiah
>>City Council, Linda Noel was appointed the City of Ukiah's new Poet
>>Laureate..."
>>
>>### ...bless my green Mendocino home. :-)
>>
>>http://www.pressdemocrat.com/local/news/07profile_b1.html
>
>
> It do look like a good place to be, Tom. Zero murders in how many
> years..?
>
> I'm curious... according to the population stats I read, you have
> something like 3 black people in the town? I notice that you've got a
> pretty decent Native American population, though. Including Linda
> Noel, the City of Ukiah's new Poet Laureate! Not bad at all... but *3*
> black people?!?

That's three too many, is it not?
You bring up a good point.
How many jews are there?
Probably too many of them, too.
Well, can't have perfection...
Yours,
Adolf

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Colin Ward
2004-06-14 19:32:26 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 13:50:59 -0500, Adolf Hitler
<***@JohnKerry.edu> wrote:

[blather snip]

What kind of moron Godwin's himself BEFORE he
starts typing?
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-14 20:44:17 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Colin Ward wrote:
>
> On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 13:50:59 -0500, Adolf Hitler
> <***@JohnKerry.edu> wrote:
>
> [blather snip]
>
> What kind of moron Godwin's himself BEFORE he
> starts typing?

Archie Godwin?
Naaaah. Never.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Peter J Ross
2004-06-16 05:37:11 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 07:49:53 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:

> Peter J Ross wrote:
>> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 10:54:04 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:
>>
>>> j r sherman wrote:
>>>
>>>
>>>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>>>> Zombie last night."
>>>> Roky Erikson
>>>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>>
>>>
>>> Good song.
>>
>> I don't know it. I'm rather fond of Dave Edmunds's "The Creature from
>> the Black Lagoon". I certainly sing it in the bath often enough.
>
> Dave is a great - mainly unnoticed - rocker. His ex-partner, Nick Lowe,
> has a much higher profile, and has done one fine album after another,
> although I still like one of his earliest best: "Jesus of Cool."

The only Nick Lowe song I can remember is "Broken Glass". I've found
that hardly anybody over here has heard of either NL or DE. I was
introduced to both of them by a very good man who used to play their
albums while giving me a lift home from work. That was a long time
ago, but if you ever happen to read this, Steve: thank you for the
music, the songs I'm singing.

> The Roky song is from a collection that is mostly songs with titles
> carped from old horror/sci-fi movies, such as "Man With the Atomic
> Brain." The Zombie song is really a tune about a very bad date.

I especially like DE's C&W parodies that are just fractionally too
fast and just fractionally too noisy to be the real thing.

>> It's certainly better than anything Bukowski even dreamed of writing.
>
> I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.

At least Abba had cleaner clothes than Puke ever owned.
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-16 13:07:33 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Wed, 16 Jun 2004 05:37:11 GMT, Peter J Ross <***@NOSPAMmeow.org>
wrote:
writing.
***>
***> I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.
***
***At least Abba had cleaner clothes than Puke ever owned.


And Buke never had his own musical...thank god.

Joy


Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Dale Houstman
2004-06-16 18:22:35 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Joy Yourcenar wrote:
> On Wed, 16 Jun 2004 05:37:11 GMT, Peter J Ross <***@NOSPAMmeow.org>
> wrote:
> writing.
> ***>
> ***> I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.
> ***
> ***At least Abba had cleaner clothes than Puke ever owned.
>
>
> And Buke never had his own musical...thank god.
>
> Joy
>
>
> Joy Yourcenar
> Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
> icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon
>
> "I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
> so leave an extra pint."
> ~Billy Bragg~


Michael Chiklis IS Buke in "Shakespeare Couldn't Dance Either!"

Jim Belusi dares to be drunk in "100 Bottles of Beer In My Fridge!"

.....

BTW, while we're on the subject, I did write a parody of Bukowski's "How
To Be A Good Writer"

___________________________

How To Keep Your Nose Clean
___________________________


you've got to suck the gluteal bait
and forget decent women and decent love.

and don't hurry about the cage
in a freshly-ironed t-shirt.

just tend to your hair
drink Nair
snore and don't care

and race around a hat rack once a week
and postulate you have a twin.

yearning for a twin is hard -
any lobbyist can be a good snoozer.

and don't forget your broom
sweep the beach and
be yourself
once a year
if you absolutely have to.

don't sleep
just swoon.
it's prettier
and you'll keep your sheets clean.

avoid pasty manatees
greeting cards
and spayed antelopes.

and remember: there isn't a Pegasus
worth removing your hat for in a elevator

and if you must love something
do it in the dark
but always be aware
someone's still paying the electric bill
whether the reason for that electric bill
seems right or wrong -

an early taste for necessity
is a deadly thing.

stay out of birch trees when smoking a cigar
and out of mausoleums at all times
and learn to like spiders
and be suspicious of oversized couches
when everybody else
is small and deflated
and sitting in cheap chairs

call your mother once a week
and try not to call her Boss
even if it's true
and Dad knows it.

stay out of trouble.
stay out of Barstow.
stay out of my way.

deer are incontinent lovers.
I know.
remember that
use your oversized typewriter
to write it down
and
stay out of my way.
I mean it.

and as the yoyos of life go up and down
your future widow
is hitting homeruns
with a hammer

make up your bed after the fight
make up your mind when the bells frighten the dogs
and not before
and probably not afterwards either

get your toothbrush charged
get your dog to recite
the lyrics
to any Celine Dion song, handsome.
you won't ever regret it.
I know I didn't.

If you think you'll go crazy
and end up alone in a tiny dark room
somewhere in Barstow
with a Mrs. Doetoevsky Frozen Blueberry Pie
you probably will.
I mean it.
It happens al the time.

sure
do a withered women
but do your homework first
or you're going to bed
without food

learn to stink before you learn to smell.

oh
and stay out of my way.

------------------------
for what that's worth...
dmh
Bindi
2004-06-18 01:53:51 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In message <news:***@citilink.com>
"Dale Houstman" <***@citilink.com> waltzed in
and whispered...

(snip)

>
> BTW, while we're on the subject, I did write a parody of Bukowski's
> "How To Be A Good Writer"
>
> ___________________________
>
> How To Keep Your Nose Clean
> ___________________________
>
>
> you've got to suck the gluteal bait
> and forget decent women and decent love.
>
> and don't hurry about the cage
> in a freshly-ironed t-shirt.
>
> just tend to your hair
> drink Nair
> snore and don't care
>
> and race around a hat rack once a week
> and postulate you have a twin.
>
> yearning for a twin is hard -
> any lobbyist can be a good snoozer.
>
> and don't forget your broom
> sweep the beach and
> be yourself
> once a year
> if you absolutely have to.
>
> don't sleep
> just swoon.
> it's prettier
> and you'll keep your sheets clean.
>
> avoid pasty manatees
> greeting cards
> and spayed antelopes.
>
> and remember: there isn't a Pegasus
> worth removing your hat for in a elevator
>
> and if you must love something
> do it in the dark
> but always be aware
> someone's still paying the electric bill
> whether the reason for that electric bill
> seems right or wrong -
>
> an early taste for necessity
> is a deadly thing.
>
> stay out of birch trees when smoking a cigar
> and out of mausoleums at all times
> and learn to like spiders
> and be suspicious of oversized couches
> when everybody else
> is small and deflated
> and sitting in cheap chairs
>
> call your mother once a week
> and try not to call her Boss
> even if it's true
> and Dad knows it.
>
> stay out of trouble.
> stay out of Barstow.
> stay out of my way.
>
> deer are incontinent lovers.
> I know.
> remember that
> use your oversized typewriter
> to write it down
> and
> stay out of my way.
> I mean it.
>
> and as the yoyos of life go up and down
> your future widow
> is hitting homeruns
> with a hammer
>
> make up your bed after the fight
> make up your mind when the bells frighten the dogs
> and not before
> and probably not afterwards either
>
> get your toothbrush charged
> get your dog to recite
> the lyrics
> to any Celine Dion song, handsome.
> you won't ever regret it.
> I know I didn't.
>
> If you think you'll go crazy
> and end up alone in a tiny dark room
> somewhere in Barstow
> with a Mrs. Doetoevsky Frozen Blueberry Pie
> you probably will.
> I mean it.
> It happens al the time.
>
> sure
> do a withered women
> but do your homework first
> or you're going to bed
> without food
>
> learn to stink before you learn to smell.
>
> oh
> and stay out of my way.
>
> ------------------------
> for what that's worth...
> dmh

Hi, Dale!
Just a drive-by
to let you know
that this took me places
I didn't expect!

I esp. enjoyed this,

'get your toothbrush charged
get your dog to recite
the lyrics
to any Celine Dion song, handsome.'

The 'handsome' made the image for me! :-)

Thanks.
--
--
Bindi

www.slingshot.to/Bindi

I have a trebuche!
And a pumpkin
with your name on it.
Dale Houstman
2004-06-18 05:19:54 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Bindi wrote:
> In message <news:***@citilink.com>
> "Dale Houstman" <***@citilink.com> waltzed in
> and whispered...
>
> (snip)
>
>
>>BTW, while we're on the subject, I did write a parody of Bukowski's
>>"How To Be A Good Writer"
>>
>>___________________________
>>
>>How To Keep Your Nose Clean
>>___________________________
>>
>>
>>you've got to suck the gluteal bait
>>and forget decent women and decent love.
>>
>>and don't hurry about the cage
>>in a freshly-ironed t-shirt.
>>
>>just tend to your hair
>>drink Nair
>>snore and don't care
>>
>>and race around a hat rack once a week
>>and postulate you have a twin.
>>
>>yearning for a twin is hard -
>>any lobbyist can be a good snoozer.
>>
>>and don't forget your broom
>>sweep the beach and
>>be yourself
>>once a year
>>if you absolutely have to.
>>
>>don't sleep
>>just swoon.
>>it's prettier
>>and you'll keep your sheets clean.
>>
>>avoid pasty manatees
>>greeting cards
>>and spayed antelopes.
>>
>>and remember: there isn't a Pegasus
>>worth removing your hat for in a elevator
>>
>>and if you must love something
>>do it in the dark
>>but always be aware
>>someone's still paying the electric bill
>>whether the reason for that electric bill
>>seems right or wrong -
>>
>>an early taste for necessity
>>is a deadly thing.
>>
>>stay out of birch trees when smoking a cigar
>>and out of mausoleums at all times
>>and learn to like spiders
>>and be suspicious of oversized couches
>>when everybody else
>>is small and deflated
>>and sitting in cheap chairs
>>
>>call your mother once a week
>>and try not to call her Boss
>>even if it's true
>>and Dad knows it.
>>
>>stay out of trouble.
>>stay out of Barstow.
>>stay out of my way.
>>
>>deer are incontinent lovers.
>>I know.
>>remember that
>>use your oversized typewriter
>>to write it down
>>and
>>stay out of my way.
>>I mean it.
>>
>>and as the yoyos of life go up and down
>>your future widow
>>is hitting homeruns
>>with a hammer
>>
>>make up your bed after the fight
>>make up your mind when the bells frighten the dogs
>>and not before
>>and probably not afterwards either
>>
>>get your toothbrush charged
>>get your dog to recite
>>the lyrics
>>to any Celine Dion song, handsome.
>>you won't ever regret it.
>>I know I didn't.
>>
>>If you think you'll go crazy
>>and end up alone in a tiny dark room
>>somewhere in Barstow
>>with a Mrs. Doetoevsky Frozen Blueberry Pie
>>you probably will.
>>I mean it.
>>It happens al the time.
>>
>>sure
>>do a withered women
>>but do your homework first
>>or you're going to bed
>>without food
>>
>>learn to stink before you learn to smell.
>>
>>oh
>>and stay out of my way.
>>
>>------------------------
>>for what that's worth...
>>dmh
>
>
> Hi, Dale!
> Just a drive-by
> to let you know
> that this took me places
> I didn't expect!
>
> I esp. enjoyed this,
>
> 'get your toothbrush charged
> get your dog to recite
> the lyrics
> to any Celine Dion song, handsome.'
>
> The 'handsome' made the image for me! :-)
>
> Thanks.
> --
> --
> Bindi
>

Glad you enjoyed it. I had to look up the original poem to see where
"handsome" came from. In one line the Bukester mentions several writers,
Celine and Hamsun among the lot. So that's where "Celine Dion" and
"handsome" came from.

Just some vague ""world boredom" from your favorite one trick pony!

dmh
Dale Houstman
2004-06-16 13:12:12 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Peter J Ross wrote:
> On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 07:49:53 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:
>
>
>>Peter J Ross wrote:
>>
>>>On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 10:54:04 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:
>>>
>>>
>>>>j r sherman wrote:
>>>>
>>>>
>>>>
>>>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>>>"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>>>>>Zombie last night."
>>>>> Roky Erikson
>>>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>>>
>>>>
>>>>Good song.
>>>
>>>I don't know it. I'm rather fond of Dave Edmunds's "The Creature from
>>>the Black Lagoon". I certainly sing it in the bath often enough.
>>
>>Dave is a great - mainly unnoticed - rocker. His ex-partner, Nick Lowe,
>>has a much higher profile, and has done one fine album after another,
>>although I still like one of his earliest best: "Jesus of Cool."
>
>
> The only Nick Lowe song I can remember is "Broken Glass". I've found
> that hardly anybody over here has heard of either NL or DE. I was
> introduced to both of them by a very good man who used to play their
> albums while giving me a lift home from work. That was a long time
> ago, but if you ever happen to read this, Steve: thank you for the
> music, the songs I'm singing.

I've seen Nick in concert a couple of times, and have most of his
albums. He's not as frenetically hilarious as he is on "Jesus of Cool"
(from which "Broken Glass" - a Bowie take - derives, but he's settled
into a very comfortable and "mature pop" sound that really delivers on
several fronts. One of his latest - "Dig My Mood" - is superb.


>
>
>>The Roky song is from a collection that is mostly songs with titles
>>carped from old horror/sci-fi movies, such as "Man With the Atomic
>>Brain." The Zombie song is really a tune about a very bad date.
>
>
> I especially like DE's C&W parodies that are just fractionally too
> fast and just fractionally too noisy to be the real thing.
>
>
>>>It's certainly better than anything Bukowski even dreamed of writing.
>>
>>I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.
>
>
> At least Abba had cleaner clothes than Puke ever owned.

Way too clean! It's a scary "Stepford Wives" look that makes them look
like out-of-scale Ken and Barbie Disco dolls. You know that - underneath
those duds - their sexual organs have beeb Martinized.

dmh
Will Dockery
2004-06-16 19:25:53 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com> wrote

> >>Dave is a great - mainly unnoticed - rocker. His ex-partner, Nick Lowe,
> >>has a much higher profile, and has done one fine album after another,
> >>although I still like one of his earliest best: "Jesus of Cool."
> >
> >
> > The only Nick Lowe song I can remember is "Broken Glass". I've found
> > that hardly anybody over here has heard of either NL or DE. I was
> > introduced to both of them by a very good man who used to play their
> > albums while giving me a lift home from work. That was a long time
> > ago, but if you ever happen to read this, Steve: thank you for the
> > music, the songs I'm singing.
>
> I've seen Nick in concert a couple of times, and have most of his
> albums. He's not as frenetically hilarious as he is on "Jesus of Cool"
> (from which "Broken Glass" - a Bowie take - derives, but he's settled
> into a very comfortable and "mature pop" sound that really delivers on
> several fronts. One of his latest - "Dig My Mood" - is superb.

I remember them well... one of the things I "studied", when I should
have been spending some time with actual poetry and the mechanics of
writing actual poetry, was all forms of "new wave" I could find.
Haven't thought of him in a long time. I'll look up his "Dig My Mood"
next time I'm in a music store big enough to have a copy [in other
words, not likely to be in Shadowville]. A great many people have
"heard" Lowe, more than have heard "of" him... his one hit wonder
"Cruel To Be Kind" still pops up on the local radio stations often...

And Bowie, as I wrote before, was an imspiration/obsession for years,
including the "Low" period ya'll are refering to. Still think he *was*
a damned good writer.

"Baby
I've been
Breaking glass
In my room again.

You're such
A wonderful person!
But you've got problems!

Let me touch you!"

......

> > how to be a good writer
> > by Charles Bukowski
> >
> > you've got to fuck a great many women
> > beautiful women
> > and write a few decent love poems.
> >
> > and don't worry about age
> > and/or freshly-arrived talents.
> >
> > just drink more beer
> > more and more beer
> >
> > and attend the racetrack at least once a
> >
> > week
> >
> > and win
> > if possible
> >
> > learning to win is hard -
> > any slob can be a good loser.
> >
> > and don't forget your Brahms
> > and your Bach and your
> > beer.
> >
> > don't overexercise.
> >
> > sleep until moon.
> >
> > avoid paying credit cards
> > or paying for anything on
> > time.
> >
> > remember that there isn't a piece of ass
> > in this world over $50
> > (in 1977).
> >
> > and if you have the ability to love
> > love yourself first
> > but always be aware of the possibility of
> > total defeat
> > whether the reason for that defeat
> > seems right or wrong -
> >
> > an early taste of death is not necessarily
> > a bad thing.
> >
> > stay out of churches and bars and museums,
> > and like the spider be
> > patient -
> > time is everybody's cross,
> > plus
> > exile
> > defeat
> > treachery
> >
> > all that dross.
> >
> > stay with the beer.
> >
> > beer is continuous blood.
> >
> > a continuous lover.
> >
> > get a large typewriter
> > and as the footsteps go up and down
> > outside your window
> >
> > hit that thing
> > hit it hard
> >
> > make it a heavyweight fight
> >
> > make it the bull when he first charges in
> >
> > and remember the old dogs
> > who fought so well:
> > Hemingway, Celine, Dostoevsky, Hamsun.
> >
> > If you think they didn't go crazy
> > in tiny rooms
> > just like you're doing now
> >
> > without women
> > without food
> > without hope
> >
> > then you're not ready.
> >
> > drink more beer.
> > there's time.
> > and if there's not
> > that's all right
> > too.
> >
> >
> > "Work like you don't need money, Love like you've never been hurt,
> > And dance like nobody's watching."
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-11 19:29:43 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 11 Jun 2004 08:25:45 -0700, j r sherman <***@earthlink.net>
wrote:

***In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will
Dockery
***says...
***
***
***>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century.
Nobody but nobody
***>comes close.
***
***to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you
have never read
***any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any
poetry, or a
***man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza
at age 50+,
***would make such a statement.
***
***why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
***
**

Needs a hobby?

Joy

Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 15:58:50 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:

> >... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> >comes close.
>
> to more than emphasis Mr. Gamble's point, it is obvious that you have never read
> any poetry, because only an ignorant idiot who has never read any poetry, or a
> man who is an ignorant idiot and also proud to be delivering pizza at age 50+,
> would make such a statement.
>
> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?

I didn't write the post, I reposted it, as I made clear at the start
of it:

> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.

But I still think Buk was damned good, along with Patti Smith,
Ginsberg, Corso, Jim Morrison, and as someone added, Leonard Cohen.
Will
Art
2004-06-11 17:03:25 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Will Dockery wrote:

[snip]
> > ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> > comes close.
>
> But I still think Buk was damned good, along with Patti Smith,
> Ginsberg, Corso, Jim Morrison, and as someone added, Leonard Cohen.
> Will

The preceding was solely the opinion of the poster and not that of the
management. Thank you.

---
Art
Aidan Tynan
2004-06-11 16:56:55 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Will Dockery" <***@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:***@posting.google.com...

> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life,
Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,

It's always unfortunate when a life is confused with an oeuvre, or when
prolific output is confused with good output. Larkin only put out, what,
four collections or something, and he *can* be justified as one of the
century's greats. Looking through the Harvill anthology of the 20th century
anglophone poetry I notice something of a strong British bias, or call it
what you will: both the Movement and the Revival are well covered, there are
names like Singer, Fisher, MacCaig, Jennings, Bunting, Beer ... all of whom
I had to look up at some point to position historically. The anthology
features no Synder, Ferlinghetti, Bernstein, Levertov, Creely, Nemerov, the
kinds of American poets you'd expect from an anthology if it had been
published "over there", which makes me think that the twentieth century is
too young, or maybe just too big, for judgements which aren't influenced by
perspectival or geographic partiality. That said, the Harvill is my
favourite anthology of its type.

> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry,
with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens
of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.

He wrote poems about his, too, which are quite pompous and self-serving.

>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.

He has written one or two good poems, but most are the typically effete
ramblings of a poetaster in the lugubrious confessionalist mode, such as
that one which ends "it's nice/to be/Bukowski". Terrible. However, he was
the first poet I ever bought (at age 18 I think) and is good for that level,
though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which remains my
favourite poetry book by a single author. But we all have these kinds of
infatuations, the idea is to manage them so that they don't impair judgement
beyond sensible limits. The notion that Buk is the century's greatest poet
is ludicrous, and wouldn't be taken seriously by Buk himself I'd imagine. Of
course, Blacksparrow (or whoever) are going to try to market him the best
they can, and the hard drinkin' genius image is one that certainly wins
adolescent hearts eager to rebel against vague ideas of literary conformity.


>
> Bono of U2

The man who penned "I kissed those honey lips". *shudder*


-Aidan
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-11 19:44:58 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
<***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:

***However, he was
***the first poet I ever bought (at age 18 I think) and is good for
that level,
***though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which
remains my
***favourite poetry book by a single author.


Excellent taste. I have two copies. Hardcover one for my office,
paperback one for traveling.

Joy


Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
ggamble
2004-06-12 00:21:03 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
<***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:

>
>though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which remains my
>favourite poetry book by a single author.
>
>
>-Aidan


Fucken yes.
Aidan Tynan
2004-06-13 15:44:16 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
news:***@4ax.com...
> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
>
> >
> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which remains
my
> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
> >
> >
> >-Aidan
>
>
> Fucken yes.

I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce symposium. He
read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any public readings.
Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island, Traditions, and
The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.


-Aidan
--
Imagine a forest
A real forest. -- W.S. Graham

>
>
ggamble
2004-06-13 17:05:54 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
<***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:

>
>
>
>"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
>news:***@4ax.com...
>> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
>> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
>>
>> >
>> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which remains
>my
>> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
>> >
>> >
>> >-Aidan
>>
>>
>> Fucken yes.
>
>I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce symposium. He
>read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any public readings.
>Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island, Traditions, and
>The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
>
>
>-Aidan


Colour me green.
janet santana
2004-06-13 21:20:27 UTC
Reply
Permalink
ggamble <***@excite.com> wrote in message news:<***@4ax.com>...
> On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
>
> >
> >
> >
> >"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
> >news:***@4ax.com...
> >> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> >> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
> >>
> >> >
> >> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which remains
> my
> >> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
> >> >
> >> >
> >> >-Aidan
> >>
> >>
> >> Fucken yes.
> >
> >I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce symposium. He
> >read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any public readings.
> >Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island, Traditions, and
> >The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
> >
> >
> >-Aidan
>
>
> Colour me green.

Yellow is the color for you, ggamble.
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-13 19:52:13 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
<***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:

***
***
***
***"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
***news:***@4ax.com...
***> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
***>
***> >
***> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which
remains
***my
***> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
***> >
***> >
***> >-Aidan
***>
***>
***> Fucken yes.
***
***I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce
symposium. He
***read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any public
readings.
***Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island,
Traditions, and
***The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
***
***
***-Aidan

Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P

Joy



Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Dale Houstman
2004-06-13 22:31:40 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Joy Yourcenar wrote:
> On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
>
> ***
> ***
> ***
> ***"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
> ***news:***@4ax.com...
> ***> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> ***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
> ***>
> ***> >
> ***> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground which
> remains
> ***my
> ***> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
> ***> >
> ***> >
> ***> >-Aidan
> ***>
> ***>
> ***> Fucken yes.
> ***
> ***I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce
> symposium. He
> ***read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any public
> readings.
> ***Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island,
> Traditions, and
> ***The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
> ***
> ***
> ***-Aidan
>
> Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P
>
> Joy
>

Christ! No one told me we needed reasons to hate someone. That's too
much like work...

dmh
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-14 00:57:33 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 17:31:40 -0500, Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>
wrote:

***
***
***Joy Yourcenar wrote:
***> On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
***>
***> ***
***> ***
***> ***
***> ***"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
***> ***news:***@4ax.com...
***> ***> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
***> ***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
***> ***>
***> ***> >
***> ***> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground
which
***> remains
***> ***my
***> ***> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
***> ***> >
***> ***> >
***> ***> >-Aidan
***> ***>
***> ***>
***> ***> Fucken yes.
***> ***
***> ***I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce
***> symposium. He
***> ***read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any
public
***> readings.
***> ***Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island,
***> Traditions, and
***> ***The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
***> ***
***> ***
***> ***-Aidan
***>
***> Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P
***>
***> Joy
***>
***
***Christ! No one told me we needed reasons to hate someone. That's
too
***much like work...
***
***dmh


For a modest fee, I will provide you with a weekly email listing 100%
certifiable and guaranteed reasons to hate someone saving you the
drudgery of thinking them up for yourself. E-Malice, a subsidiary
company of Rent-a-Clue will provide all your prejudice needs from pet
peeves to blatant bigotry.

9.99 buys you one year's subscription to this essential usenet service
and you can pay with PayPal. Subscribe today and receive a free
bobblely headed Value-Added Savior for your car dash!

Joy
An American Entrepreneur


Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Dale Houstman
2004-06-14 02:56:30 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Joy Yourcenar wrote:

> ***>
> ***> Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P
> ***>
> ***> Joy
> ***>
> ***
> ***Christ! No one told me we needed reasons to hate someone. That's
> too
> ***much like work...
> ***
> ***dmh
>
>
> For a modest fee, I will provide you with a weekly email listing 100%
> certifiable and guaranteed reasons to hate someone saving you the
> drudgery of thinking them up for yourself. E-Malice, a subsidiary
> company of Rent-a-Clue will provide all your prejudice needs from pet
> peeves to blatant bigotry.
>
> 9.99 buys you one year's subscription to this essential usenet service
> and you can pay with PayPal. Subscribe today and receive a free
> bobblely headed Value-Added Savior for your car dash!
>
> Joy
> An American Entrepreneur

Sounds good. Personally though - and until a reason for NOT hating them
is provided by the object of my attention - I prefer to hate every
person I run into without any motive at all.

"Blatant bigotry" is too strong a remedy for my needs: 54 years of life
have given me just the dollop-and-a-half of "keep outta my face" I
really need. I even keep unused portions in a jar under the bed, just in
case I happen to be reading the newspaper or watching CNN, waiting for
actual news to ooze up between the power-worshipping and the half-baked
24 hour "analysis" of events not worth thinking about twice in the first
place. Paula Zahn can make me go through the entire supply in just a few
minutes, but a few seconds of Aaron Brown will often send me into
overtime production just to keep ahead of his "just about to cry over
nothing important" process.

In addition, the potent fluid can also be used to remove smirks from
dysfunctional presidents and to wax poetic, with no yellow build-up.

dmh
Will Dockery
2004-06-14 07:06:17 UTC
Reply
Permalink
> Tom Bishop wrote:
>
> > > > > And I don't remember ever commenting on your job. In the
> context of
> > > > > this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro
> or Tommy
> > > > > you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy
> important and
> > > > > hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use
> fantasies about
> > > > > their work to support their arguments here.
> > > >
> > > > I have never posted any fantasy about my work.
> > > >
> > > > I am a notable but quite forgettable programmer
> > > > that made a lot of money and had godawful
> > > > fun in the 90's.
> > >
> > > Well, it's well known that programmers generally make a *lot* of
> money
> > > [at least in comparison with pizza delivery people and such] so I
> > > don't really understand why these people insist that you're making
> it
> > > all up.
> >
> > I'm frankly quite hard to believe.
> >
> > :-)
>
> Must be a programmer thing, Zero's rather unbelievable also:

Well, progammers are the highest paid typists.

When I decided to be a programmer I /prepared/ by
taking a typing course.

Many gifted programmers moronically used two fingers.



>
> Burger God [Zero Hex & Elka Bong]: http://burgergod.earthside.org/
>
> Zero Hex poetry & lyrics: http://burgergod.earthside.org/lyrics/
>
> Elka Bong drawings [including Will Dockery portrait]:
> http://geocities.com/aspartamesugar/drawings.html
>
> Elka Bong stuff: http://amethyst.earthside.org/
>
> > > You may remember when we first met, Hazel and I thought you might
> be
> > > her erstwhile brother-in-law, Zero Hex, who does very similar work,
> > > and had quite a heyday in the 1990s, as well.
> > >
> > > Hex made an astounding jump to prosperity, by taking an interest in
> > > computers relatively early on, when he was a usually out-of-work
> > > saxophone player, painter and poet.
> >
> > I was somewhat lucky, but I was also more talented than most.
> >
> > :-)
>
> Damn. I *still* can't shake the feeling that you *are* Zero Hex...

I'm who I've said.. a forgettable programmer who did well in
corporate settings in the 90's in spite of no /formal/ education
in computers or computer languages.



> he
> was always a man of many aliases... but, never mind... I think its more
> likely a *programmer thing*... like minds and whatnot.

The narcissism is even deeper since programmers actually make money
from their typing (unlike most failed writers around here...)

I have the added feature of my handicap which has accelerated my life
greatly and driven me to much that more /normal folk/ avoid.
Put me /near death/ and prompted a close reading of the
_Tibetan Book of the Dead_ at an early age.


>
> I think you two would get along famously, creating Sawtooth Pulses and
> "N" factorials and other stuff I know even less about than the
> mechanics and craft of poetry, into the wee hours of the night, while
> me and Hazel beg and plead for scrambled eggs and steak in bed...
>
> What was that you wrote earlier about hiring me? I can be on the
> Greyhound on short notice... I *have* been informed that I need to make
> it or break it in the big cities. I can study poetry on the long bus
> ride.

Indeed.

Send me your phone number in email.



>
> > > Astounding, because during the 1980s, I in my relatively meager job
> in
> > > a local carpet mill, was the one who was considered *in the money*,
> > > and was the one who bought the coffees and sandwiches for Hex, and
> the
> > > other poet/artists of Shadowville at the time, Jon E. Jones [who,
> > > sadly died a couple of years ago] and Tom Snelling, one of the best
> > > writers anywhere [who Hazel and I suspect may also have passed, a
> > > seance we held last year seemed to perhaps confirm this: during the
> > > seance, we both saw a shadowy bearded figure on a dirt road in
> > > shimmering bright golden light, and Cassonya, head witch of Isis
> > > House, said she kept hearing the name "Thomas"] at Shoneys, Waffle
> > > House and whatnot.
> > >
> > > When he re entered our lives in 2000, he made good on all the years
> > > Hazel and me helped him--- scrambled eggs breakfasts, with steak!
> And
> > > so on.
> >
> > Breakfast in bed?
>
> That was Patrick Hopkins you may be thinking of, a locally famous young
> poet who was mine and Dark Queen's "butler/babysitter" in the big old
> house before the power got cut off.
>
> He'd bring us coffee in bed--- "I'd yell, *Mister French! Coffee!* ",
> and he'd shuffle in directly. Always concocting bizarre new flavored
> coffees for Dark Queen, in a rivalry with Oren Shroeder, another young
> poet at the time. They'd continue to raise the bar with weird new
> coffee flavorings, and conspired to poison mine. Not enough to kill me,
> just get me sick enough to miss that week's poetry reading.
>
> At one point, we had all living in the big house, Patrick, Oren, DQ's
> two daughters Star & Elise, Dan Barfield's [my former high school
> English teacher and former mentor] runaway underage girlfriend Tina,
> stripper poets and bisexual couple Wispy & Coralizard, several cats, a
> shaggy poodle, a couple of ferrets, a goldfish, a turtle... when the
> power went out, everyone bailed and run [spoiling our theory that with
> all *these* people, we'd easily be able to afford utilities...] or
> otherwise resituated [Star into the navy, Elise with her grandmother,
> Tina to Saint Augustine with Barfield...]
>
> Anyway, steak & scrambled eggs... even more interesting than learning
> poetry at this point...

Adding even a little Vindaloo Curry Paste to scrambled eggs is more
than a yolk.

>
> > > During the 1980s, in trade for smoke money, coffee, whatever, Zero
> > > would trade me artwork, poems, songs, and I even commisioned him to
> > > write scripts for my series of mini comix of the time, "Demon House
> > > Theatre", "River Mutants", "Iron-I", "Fathos" and so on, some of
> which
> > > remain unproduced. Marvellous writings.
> > >
> > > Thanks for spurring this little astral trip through memory... I
> don't
> > > see Zero Hex anymore, these days, and Hazel and I have long-since
> > > split.
> > >
> > > Maybe I'll dig those old scripts up out of the archives in the shed
> > > and convert 'em to my current comix project, Feardevil. By the way,
> > > anyone who might be interested in a copy of the Feardevil comic,
> just
> > > sent me an SASE to:
> > >
> > > Will Dockery
> > > P.O.Box 7394
> > > Columbus Georgia 31908
> > >
> > > And I'll be happy to zip one your way... and if anyone out there
> knows
> > > Zero, tell the old guy I said hello. Miss the old cuss.
> >
> >
> > You are a kick.
>
> You mean that in a Beat way? Thanks.

You have spirit and perserverance and now you are
/turning/ as in a sonnet. I have some light physical labor,
money to pay a poet to do it, and some room to crash.
A home network with multiple 'puters on a DSL link,
central Air, big screen TV with "Replay" (tm)
Whipped Cream Dulce de Leche Carmel Layer Cake
and more...

Katch a bus. :-)

Perhaps we could do each other a favor and
I'm talking pizza.

**** I've got a week's vacation from Pizza Roma, with pay, which I
could stretch into two or three, without pay. Light work sounds good,
money, ditto, that way the trip would *pay for itself* in combo. I'll
start talking it up with Pasko, Ben and the gang tommorow. Do you know
of any poetry readings in your town? Obviously San Francisco, which I
understand is two hours below you will have the real thing, and by
interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
Shadowvillians.

I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
Jerry with digeridoo, *there's always one in every town if you look
for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
'round...

"There's art,
Joseph on his bicycle,
grampa singing his heart out.
But my grampa's in heaven
with a ballpeen hammer,
breaking all the mirrors."

here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
poems, always writ in red felt tip.

"Electric fire blood,
remembering Megan's crystals,
spoken of in her poetry."

These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
something. *sigh*

Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
owners, Jarrod and Dawn,

"Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
so I sit ---.
Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
with 70's soul blast,
fast and then it's gone."

we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.

It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
fashion.

A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
girlfriend, Angel:

"Little Angel,
shaven and beautiful,
falls, smacks her behind on the cement
a couple of times.
She's mystical, punk,
and her magic transforms this street
to Bourbon Street."

This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.

That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.

The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
or since had I seen this done, nice idea.

Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.

Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.
I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
Shadowville *one more time*?
Tom Bishop
2004-06-14 12:38:18 UTC
Reply
Permalink
> Katch a bus. :-)
>
> Perhaps we could do each other a favor and
> I'm talking pizza.
>
> **** I've got a week's vacation from Pizza Roma, with pay, which I
> could stretch into two or three, without pay. Light work sounds good,
> money, ditto, that way the trip would *pay for itself* in combo. I'll

I suggest calling to hear the details, but yes.
It could work.

What I need done wouldn't be that much.


> start talking it up with Pasko, Ben and the gang tommorow. Do you know
> of any poetry readings in your town?

I don't look. You found something.



> Obviously San Francisco, which I
> understand is two hours below you

Yes. We can visit jr and Renay for cucumber sandwiches..


> will have the real thing, and by
> interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
> what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
> Shadowvillians.

I suspect that you could be a piper anywhere.

I can inquire around town about it a little.

>
> I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
> closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
> around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
> bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
> have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
> the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
> kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
> scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
> Jerry with digeridoo,

Well this /is/ Jerry country. I know a girl who would brag she
kissed his stump. The Dead moved from La Honda to Marin
which is why I chose Marin when I first moved to CA and how
right could I have been?


> *there's always one in every town if you look
> for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
> met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
> so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
> playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
> together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
> 'round...
>
> "There's art,
> Joseph on his bicycle,
> grampa singing his heart out.
> But my grampa's in heaven
> with a ballpeen hammer,
> breaking all the mirrors."
>
> here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
> poems, always writ in red felt tip.
>
> "Electric fire blood,
> remembering Megan's crystals,
> spoken of in her poetry."
>
> These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
> I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
> edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
> something. *sigh*
>
> Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
> NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
> University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
> the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
> a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
> behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
> front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
> owners, Jarrod and Dawn,
>
> "Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
> so I sit ---.
> Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
> with 70's soul blast,
> fast and then it's gone."
>
> we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
> first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
> why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
> poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
> us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
> I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
> ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.
>
> It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
> continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
> re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
> who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
> Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
> intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
> fashion.
>
> A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
> girlfriend, Angel:
>
> "Little Angel,
> shaven and beautiful,
> falls, smacks her behind on the cement
> a couple of times.
> She's mystical, punk,
> and her magic transforms this street
> to Bourbon Street."
>
> This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
> YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.
>
> That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
> everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
> along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
> academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
> black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
> turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
> on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
> down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
> after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
> undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
> came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
> freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
> corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
> kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
> then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
> house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
> Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.
>
> The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
> attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
> with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
> read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
> or since had I seen this done, nice idea.
>
> Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
> problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.
>
> Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.

Light stuff really.

Send me your phone number. I have a very cheap phone.
(Which you can use while here) Call AL if you want.



> I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
> three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
> break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
> Shadowville *one more time*?


Ukiah is quite small (16,000) but cheaper than the Bay Area and rated as one
of the most desirable towns to live in.
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-16 13:10:49 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 21:56:30 -0500, Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>
wrote:

***
***
***Joy Yourcenar wrote:
***
***> ***>
***> ***> Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P
***> ***>
***> ***> Joy
***> ***>
***> ***
***> ***Christ! No one told me we needed reasons to hate someone.
That's
***> too
***> ***much like work...
***> ***
***> ***dmh
***>
***>
***> For a modest fee, I will provide you with a weekly email listing
100%
***> certifiable and guaranteed reasons to hate someone saving you the
***> drudgery of thinking them up for yourself. E-Malice, a subsidiary
***> company of Rent-a-Clue will provide all your prejudice needs from
pet
***> peeves to blatant bigotry.
***>
***> 9.99 buys you one year's subscription to this essential usenet
service
***> and you can pay with PayPal. Subscribe today and receive a free
***> bobblely headed Value-Added Savior for your car dash!
***>
***> Joy
***> An American Entrepreneur
***
***Sounds good. Personally though - and until a reason for NOT hating
them
***is provided by the object of my attention - I prefer to hate every
***person I run into without any motive at all.
***
***"Blatant bigotry" is too strong a remedy for my needs: 54 years of
life
***have given me just the dollop-and-a-half of "keep outta my face" I
***really need. I even keep unused portions in a jar under the bed,
just in
***case I happen to be reading the newspaper or watching CNN, waiting
for
***actual news to ooze up between the power-worshipping and the
half-baked
***24 hour "analysis" of events not worth thinking about twice in the
first
***place. Paula Zahn can make me go through the entire supply in just
a few
***minutes, but a few seconds of Aaron Brown will often send me into
***overtime production just to keep ahead of his "just about to cry
over
***nothing important" process.
***
***In addition, the potent fluid can also be used to remove smirks
from
***dysfunctional presidents and to wax poetic, with no yellow
build-up.
***
***dmh
*****


Rent-a-Clue and E-Malice probably aren't for you. We don't really
cater to the do-it-yourself market. That would be like catering to the
nude luge team. Not our niche.

Joy


Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-14 05:46:22 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Joy Yourcenar wrote:
>
> On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 17:31:40 -0500, Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>
> wrote:
>
> ***
> ***
> ***Joy Yourcenar wrote:
> ***> On Sun, 13 Jun 2004 16:44:16 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> ***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
> ***>
> ***> ***
> ***> ***
> ***> ***
> ***> ***"ggamble" <***@excite.com> wrote in message
> ***> ***news:***@4ax.com...
> ***> ***> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, "Aidan Tynan"
> ***> ***> <***@REMOVEeircom.net> wrote:
> ***> ***>
> ***> ***> >
> ***> ***> >though within months I'd moved onto Heaney's Opened Ground
> which
> ***> remains
> ***> ***my
> ***> ***> >favourite poetry book by a single author.
> ***> ***> >
> ***> ***> >
> ***> ***> >-Aidan
> ***> ***>
> ***> ***>
> ***> ***> Fucken yes.
> ***> ***
> ***> ***I went to see him read yesterday at the opening of the Joyce
> ***> symposium. He
> ***> ***read his own stuff since the Joyce estate has banned any
> public
> ***> readings.
> ***> ***Heaney read among others section twelve of Station Island,
> ***> Traditions, and
> ***> ***The Skunk. Needless to say I was rapt.
> ***> ***
> ***> ***
> ***> ***-Aidan
> ***>
> ***> Needless to say, this is why we hate you. :P
> ***>
> ***> Joy
> ***>
> ***
> ***Christ! No one told me we needed reasons to hate someone. That's
> too
> ***much like work...
> ***
> ***dmh
>
> For a modest fee, I will provide you with a weekly email listing 100%
> certifiable and guaranteed reasons to hate someone saving you the
> drudgery of thinking them up for yourself. E-Malice, a subsidiary
> company of Rent-a-Clue will provide all your prejudice needs from pet
> peeves to blatant bigotry.
>
> 9.99 buys you one year's subscription to this essential usenet service
> and you can pay with PayPal. Subscribe today and receive a free
> bobblely headed Value-Added Savior for your car dash!
>
> Joy

Screw the Lits of Haet. That's a bobblehead I wanna see.
Does the twofinger salute bobble with the head (it's all in the
casting)?
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Will Dockery
2004-06-14 14:33:56 UTC
Reply
Permalink
> Katch a bus. :-)
>
> Perhaps we could do each other a favor and
> I'm talking pizza.
>
> **** I've got a week's vacation from Pizza Roma, with pay, which I
> could stretch into two or three, without pay. Light work sounds good,
> money, ditto, that way the trip would *pay for itself* in combo. I'll

I suggest calling to hear the details, but yes.
It could work.

What I need done wouldn't be that much.

**** Sounds good.

> start talking it up with Pasko, Ben and the gang tommorow. Do you know
> of any poetry readings in your town?

I don't look. You found something.

**** Seems to be a decent amount of them in your town. We should check
them out [of course you don't *have* to get up and read... I'm the
only person I know who *has* to do these things... my cross to bear]
and get digital photos, and try to get your local folks involved in
these groups. I don't, of course, know what sorts of poets we'll meet
at these places, but I imagine it's not *that* different from other
places. Always seem to meet a couple of nice folks, at least, at
poetry readings. And fell in love more than a couple of times, but
that's something *not* to look for... focusing on such things can put
the kibosh on 'em. We just show up, get a table by the wall... and the
folks outside smoking cigarettes are--- hold it! California didn't
pass some fucked up ban on cigarette smoking yet, did they???

> Obviously San Francisco, which I
> understand is two hours below you

Yes. We can visit jr and Renay for cucumber sandwiches..

**** I speculate on this below... I'm replying to this post "bottom
up" again... too bad it's virtually impossible that Renay and JRS
would meet with us... I'd love it.

> will have the real thing, and by
> interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
> what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
> Shadowvillians.

I suspect that you could be a piper anywhere.

I can inquire around town about it a little.

**** Your town seems pretty big on poetry, there's a link below. I
like starting my own, if the circumstances are right. When I get to a
new place, I like to wander the immediate area, getting a bead on the
better places for buying cigarettes and beer, possible chance
meeting/girl action, and just general checking out the energy.

**** If lucky, there'll be a coffeeshop of some kind, or a bookstore,
or something unexpected. Are you on the same street that Google has in
it's archives [I won't repeat it here]? I'm still working through the
info the internet has on your area... I looked up the pizza joints
there, and besides Little C's, the others are unfamiliar, apparently
local pizza joints. We could go and check these at some point, so I
can get some pictures, and possibly pick up some new pizza ideas to
relay to Ben. A bit of innocent "cloak and daggar" stuff... pizza
joints are also excellent potential poetry open mic spots. One pizza
joint, Round Table, is interesting--- rather than the usual
Italian/Sicilian promotion, they go for a "Camelot" theme. Wierd...
Brits and pizza..?

Round Table Pizza http://www.roundtablepizza.com/RTP/HI/
292 South State Street
Ukiah, CA 95482

"...> Years ago, Round Table Pizza did have an Arthurian theme. There
> were things like maces and armor faceplates on the walls, and
> the menus had drawings of the ka-niggits sitting around eating
> pizza. The pizza ovens were made by a company called Montague,
> and the menu worked this into the lore by claiming that in
> King Arthur's court, Montague was a friendly dragon whose fiery
> breath cooked the pizzas... One day, in about 1961, a friend of Mr. Larsons > was eating pizza in the restaurant and started drawing the characters from > King Arthur's court, all eating pizza. Mr. Larson was so excited he adopted > the King Arthur Theme and started making the restaurants look like English > castles.The shields were added to the logo (the name) about 1970. There
> are actually three shields and believe it or not, they symbolize the
> letters "F", "U", "N", spelling FUN!"



> I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
> closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
> around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
> bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
> have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
> the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
> kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
> scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
> Jerry with digeridoo,

Well this /is/ Jerry country. I know a girl who would brag she
kissed his stump. The Dead moved from La Honda to Marin
which is why I chose Marin when I first moved to CA and how
right could I have been?

**** I remember reading about her!

> *there's always one in every town if you look
> for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
> met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
> so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
> playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
> together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
> 'round...
>
> "There's art,
> Joseph on his bicycle,
> grampa singing his heart out.
> But my grampa's in heaven
> with a ballpeen hammer,
> breaking all the mirrors."
>
> here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
> poems, always writ in red felt tip.
>
> "Electric fire blood,
> remembering Megan's crystals,
> spoken of in her poetry."
>
> These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
> I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
> edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
> something. *sigh*
>
> Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
> NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
> University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
> the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
> a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
> behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
> front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
> owners, Jarrod and Dawn,
>
> "Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
> so I sit ---.
> Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
> with 70's soul blast,
> fast and then it's gone."
>
> we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
> first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
> why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
> poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
> us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
> I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
> ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.
>
> It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
> continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
> re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
> who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
> Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
> intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
> fashion.
>
> A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
> girlfriend, Angel:
>
> "Little Angel,
> shaven and beautiful,
> falls, smacks her behind on the cement
> a couple of times.
> She's mystical, punk,
> and her magic transforms this street
> to Bourbon Street."
>
> This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
> YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.
>
> That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
> everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
> along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
> academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
> black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
> turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
> on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
> down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
> after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
> undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
> came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
> freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
> corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
> kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
> then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
> house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
> Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.
>
> The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
> attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
> with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
> read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
> or since had I seen this done, nice idea.
>
> Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
> problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.
>
> Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.

Light stuff really.

**** I'll get all the details when we talk... btw, you don't by some
chance have a spare computer, do you? That's probably one of my main
things to consider when deciding over a fairly short airplane ride or
a long three day bus trip. I'm obviously a full out, geeking Usenet
addict, y'know... many days, including today, I typed until I passed
out here in the big easychair, awoke, and went right back typing.

Send me your phone number. I have a very cheap phone.
(Which you can use while here) Call AL if you want.

**** I'm off tommorow--- I'll email the # and call me then when I'll
be more coherent. Brother Dave made the trip to L.A. by bus a couple
of years ago and it took something like three days--- he says an
airplane would be worth the money, in time saved, less frustration, et
cetera. I think he's right, probably: I'm a cheap bastard, but which
am I cheaper with right *now*, time or money? I think time is more
valuable to me right now, and on an airplane ride I'd be there, and
learning in a matter of hours rather than drudging through every
pathetic little Shadowville along the way. On the other hand, with the
bus, obviously I'd have an extra slab of cash to spend when I finally
arrive, plus the days on the bus, as I wrote last night, would give me
long stretches of time to do my poetry studies, and apply what I learn
to revision experiments on older poems-. And I'd have more cash to
spend if we go to 'Frisco to visit Renay and JRS. The four of us
should meet at an S.F. poetry reading, perhaps even video tape it...
it would be an historical event the likes of which this newsgroup has
rarely *if ever*, seen... too bad I have a feeling they'd be too
afraid to meet with us.

**** I'll take a couple of days to think and decide.

> I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
> three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
> break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
> Shadowville *one more time*?

Ukiah is quite small (16,000) but cheaper than the Bay Area and rated
as one
of the most desirable towns to live in.

**** Yeah, I was reading up on it last night, things like no murders
for years at a time. They write haiku at city meetings... Ukiah's got
a Poet Laureate, an Indian chick...

" ...At the regular first Wednesday meeting (April 7, 2004) of the
Ukiah
City Council, Linda Noel was appointed the City of Ukiah's new Poet
Laureate..."

http://www.pressdemocrat.com/local/news/07profile_b1.html
Tom Bishop
2004-06-14 15:52:00 UTC
Reply
Permalink
**** Seems to be a decent amount of them in your town. We should check
them out [of course you don't *have* to get up and read... I'm the
only person I know who *has* to do these things... my cross to bear]


### Depending I can read but not that big a deal. I would read
some GMH probably, or perhaps some Hammes if he consented.

and get digital photos,


### I have a 2 megapixel Sony with Carl Zeiss lens.



> and try to get your local folks involved in
these groups. I don't, of course, know what sorts of poets we'll meet
at these places, but I imagine it's not *that* different from other
places. Always seem to meet a couple of nice folks, at least, at
poetry readings. And fell in love more than a couple of times, but
that's something *not* to look for... focusing on such things can put
the kibosh on 'em.

### Mendo is friendly enough, but you tell me after you see it.

We just show up, get a table by the wall... and the
folks outside smoking cigarettes are--- hold it! California didn't
pass some fucked up ban on cigarette smoking yet, did they???


### No tobacco inside most places.
(like my house...)
I suppose you could smoke tobacco in the carport
or in the back or side yard. It is shady and quiet. :-)

My loud punk neighbors were just evicted and I've
arranged with the landlord to find (and have) a person
to rent the unit next to mine. Life is good. :-)
###


> Obviously San Francisco, which I
> understand is two hours below you

Yes. We can visit jr and Renay for cucumber sandwiches..

### I was joking.


**** I speculate on this below... I'm replying to this post "bottom
up" again... too bad it's virtually impossible that Renay and JRS
would meet with us... I'd love it.

### Burp.


> will have the real thing, and by
> interesting coincidence is just what Doctor Blue diagnosed, to see if
> what I have is contageous to *real* city folk, and not just
> Shadowvillians.

I suspect that you could be a piper anywhere.

I can inquire around town about it a little.

**** Your town seems pretty big on poetry, there's a link below. I
like starting my own, if the circumstances are right. When I get to a
new place, I like to wander the immediate area, getting a bead on the
better places for buying cigarettes and beer, possible chance
meeting/girl action, and just general checking out the energy.

**** If lucky, there'll be a coffeeshop of some kind, or a bookstore,
or something unexpected. Are you on the same street that Google has in
it's archives [I won't repeat it here]?

###### Probably. I'm /in town/ and town is only a few miles across.



> I'm still working through the
info the internet has on your area... I looked up the pizza joints
there, and besides Little C's, the others are unfamiliar, apparently
local pizza joints. We could go and check these at some point, so I
can get some pictures, and possibly pick up some new pizza ideas to
relay to Ben. A bit of innocent "cloak and daggar" stuff... pizza
joints are also excellent potential poetry open mic spots. One pizza
joint, Round Table, is interesting--- rather than the usual
Italian/Sicilian promotion, they go for a "Camelot" theme. Wierd...
Brits and pizza..?

Round Table Pizza http://www.roundtablepizza.com/RTP/HI/
292 South State Street
Ukiah, CA 95482

Coffee Critic does some of that.

..the junior college has /things/.



"...> Years ago, Round Table Pizza did have an Arthurian theme. There
> were things like maces and armor faceplates on the walls, and
> the menus had drawings of the ka-niggits sitting around eating
> pizza. The pizza ovens were made by a company called Montague,
> and the menu worked this into the lore by claiming that in
> King Arthur's court, Montague was a friendly dragon whose fiery
> breath cooked the pizzas... One day, in about 1961, a friend of Mr. Larsons > was eating pizza in the restaurant and started drawing the characters from > King Arthur's court, all eating pizza. Mr. Larson was so excited he adopted > the King Arthur Theme and started making the restaurants look like English > castles.The shields were added to the logo (the name) about 1970. There
> are actually three shields and believe it or not, they symbolize the
> letters "F", "U", "N", spelling FUN!"

:-)

> I'm more interested in what you have or don't have near you, the
> closer to your place, the better. If there's a poetry reading or two
> around your town, I'll sniff it out. If there's not one, by some
> bizarre fluke, I'll get one up and rolling, and in three weeks I'll
> have it moving on it's own momentum. When i arrived in Saint Augustine
> the first time, in 1997, there was a poetry reading at a college
> kids-latterday hippie coffeehouse called "The Forest". A very good
> scene, dreadlocked young 'uns doing poetry, the ever-present child of
> Jerry with digeridoo,

Well this /is/ Jerry country. I know a girl who would brag she
kissed his stump. The Dead moved from La Honda to Marin
which is why I chose Marin when I first moved to CA and how
right could I have been?

**** I remember reading about her!


> *there's always one in every town if you look
> for him, I think they clone 'em at Wal Mart*, here is where I first
> met Grampa [never asked why that name, he being no older than 20 or
> so][later became good pals on my second voyage to SA, two years later]
> playing his banjo and backing my poems like we'd been doing it
> together a thousand years--- which perhaps we have, 'round and
> 'round...
>
> "There's art,
> Joseph on his bicycle,
> grampa singing his heart out.
> But my grampa's in heaven
> with a ballpeen hammer,
> breaking all the mirrors."
>
> here was where I first met my dear Meagan, girl of the red crystal
> poems, always writ in red felt tip.
>
> "Electric fire blood,
> remembering Megan's crystals,
> spoken of in her poetry."
>
> These "characters" have starring roles in my "Moon Studies" poem---
> I'll not repost this because this'll be one of the first I'll
> edit/revise/form/craft to test out what I've learned, when I learn
> something. *sigh*
>
> Two years later, 1999, on my return I found "The Forest" defunct, and
> NO poetry readings anywhere in all of Saint Augustine! Home of Flagler
> University, hip and cool Saint Augustine, and *no* poetry! Wandering
> the Spanish Moss streets, sniffing the sweet smells, and dressed like
> a pirate, I ran across Backstreet Coffeehouse, sitting in an alley
> behind the Saint George Tavern... my heart skipped a beat: on the
> front porch, sipping a coffee and taking notes, was Meagan! Met the
> owners, Jarrod and Dawn,
>
> "Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
> so I sit ---.
> Then a car on Hypoltia rushes by
> with 70's soul blast,
> fast and then it's gone."
>
> we became instant friends, and in a half hour we had plans set for the
> first Poetry Night, set of course on the traditional Tuesday [I dunno
> why, but Tuesday just works best for poetry... since 1995, any
> poetry/open mic we launch on tuesday works like a charm.] The four of
> us scrawled out some makshift flyers announcing the weekly event, and
> I set out with Meagan to plaster the flyers in strategic spots around
> ancient Flagler campus, and even more ancient Saint George Street.
>
> It took off without a hitch, a core group of poets appeared, who later
> continued on with the readings after I left a few months later. Grampa
> re-emerged, banjo in tow, an obnoxiously arrogant poet named Franco,
> who felt I was invading *his* turf, apparently he was considered the
> Kingfish of Poetry around the campus, until I promised him I didn't
> intend to raid his pussy supply... much. We became friends, after a
> fashion.
>
> A couple of big guys, forget their names, and their tiny little punk
> girlfriend, Angel:
>
> "Little Angel,
> shaven and beautiful,
> falls, smacks her behind on the cement
> a couple of times.
> She's mystical, punk,
> and her magic transforms this street
> to Bourbon Street."
>
> This threesome were heavy into Bukowski, and band like NoFX and the
> YeahYeahYeahs... latterday punks.
>
> That's one interesting thing, to me, when I host the poetry reading:
> everyone's welcome, and the hippies, punks, and all in between got
> along fine, sharing joints and the occasional hits of acid. Even
> academics like my former teacher/mentor Dan Pubmeadow and Ray the
> black college professor who looked strikingly like Eldridge Cleaver,
> turtleneck, sunglasses at night, and... a pipe. I used to dig sitting
> on the porch late after the Atlantic breeze finally cooled the scene
> down around about midnight, or join in the late night poker games
> after closing. More poets arrived: Mercy Sledge, a young cool cat and
> undisputed Romeo to the jailbait... he lived out in the "country", and
> came to town to seduce the college chicks, and make up an on the spot
> freestyle rap type poem, fast, just to make the scene, then off in the
> corner for talk with some girl who was impressed by his Eminem deal,
> kissing and furtive but pretty obvious finger fucking and the like---
> then, without fail, tying up the only latrine in the place, with a
> house full of coffee drinkers standing around the door, waiting for
> Meagan to stomp over and beat hell out of the door.
>
> The School For the Deaf and Blind is in Saint Augustine [Ray Charles
> attended, God bless him] and Meagan, knowing sign language came up
> with the idea for translating the poets into signing... as the poet
> read, she'd sign the poem, bringing in deaf students... never before
> or since had I seen this done, nice idea.
>
> Anyhow, point is, if your town doesn't have a poetry reading, no
> problem, we'll start one! Preferable, actually.
>
> Email me about the work you have for me, so I can picture that aspect.

Light stuff really.

**** I'll get all the details when we talk... btw, you don't by some
chance have a spare computer, do you?

### All networked on the DSL.
Twin processor running Windows Server 2000.
..other lesser machines litter the house. :-)

I could possibly use you for various computer things
associated with the Usenet Service, which might pay
a sustaining salary that might be even greener.
####


> That's probably one of my main
things to consider when deciding over a fairly short airplane ride or
a long three day bus trip. I'm obviously a full out, geeking Usenet
addict, y'know... many days, including today, I typed until I passed
out here in the big easychair, awoke, and went right back typing.

Send me your phone number. I have a very cheap phone.
(Which you can use while here) Call AL if you want.

**** I'm off tommorow--- I'll email the # and call me then when I'll
be more coherent.

### Just send me the time and number.

Brother Dave made the trip to L.A. by bus a couple
of years ago and it took something like three days--- he says an
airplane would be worth the money, in time saved, less frustration, et
cetera. I think he's right, probably: I'm a cheap bastard, but which
am I cheaper with right *now*, time or money? I think time is more
valuable to me right now, and on an airplane ride I'd be there, and
learning in a matter of hours rather than drudging through every
pathetic little Shadowville along the way.

### If you haven't done it, 'merica is worth a visit.
I've hitchhiked from PA to CA several times, taken a bus
all around and flown numerous others.
One time I hitched from Philly to SF in under 4 days.
That trip was a trip... I got some long haul rides
from benzidrine drenched truckers.

On the other hand, with the
bus, obviously I'd have an extra slab of cash to spend when I finally
arrive, plus the days on the bus, as I wrote last night, would give me
long stretches of time to do my poetry studies, and apply what I learn
to revision experiments on older poems-. And I'd have more cash to
spend if we go to 'Frisco to visit Renay and JRS. The four of us

### We don't call it Frisco. It is considered very uncool.
If you agree to not call it Frisco I might help with plane fare.
Perhaps you could fly out and take a bus back? ..or vice versa.

should meet at an S.F. poetry reading, perhaps even video tape it...
it would be an historical event the likes of which this newsgroup has
rarely *if ever*, seen... too bad I have a feeling they'd be too
afraid to meet with us.

### I have no interest in socializing with jr or renay.
You are free to pursue it. Could borrow my car.
I would possibly go down for Mt. Tam or other stuff.


**** I'll take a couple of days to think and decide.

> I'm going off to Google your town to get a feel for it, I'll plan on
> three weeks, with the possibility of a permanent move--- that would
> break Pizza Roma's collective heart, but how can I refuse, escape from
> Shadowville *one more time*?

Ukiah is quite small (16,000) but cheaper than the Bay Area and rated
as one
of the most desirable towns to live in.

**** Yeah, I was reading up on it last night, things like no murders
for years at a time. They write haiku at city meetings... Ukiah's got
a Poet Laureate, an Indian chick...

### I'd poke into the poetry scene for a taste. I always figured
that it would be largely shit like most assemblages of such sort.
There are probably some titties worth a google.

" ...At the regular first Wednesday meeting (April 7, 2004) of the
Ukiah
City Council, Linda Noel was appointed the City of Ukiah's new Poet
Laureate..."

### ...bless my green Mendocino home. :-)

http://www.pressdemocrat.com/local/news/07profile_b1.html
Peter J Ross
2004-06-14 03:02:20 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, Aidan Tynan wrote:

> "Will Dockery" <***@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> news:***@posting.google.com...
>
>> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a
>> screenplay (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his
>> life, Charles`Hank'' Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his
>> own incredible life,
>
> It's always unfortunate when a life is confused with an oeuvre, or
> when prolific output is confused with good output. Larkin only put
> out, what, four collections or something, and he *can* be justified
> as one of the century's greats.

Three good collections - _The Less Deceived_, _The Whitsun Weddings_
and _High Windows_ - and also _The North Ship_, which is unmemorable
enough to be called juvenilia.

> Looking through the Harvill anthology of the 20th century anglophone
> poetry I notice something of a strong British bias, or call it what
> you will: both the Movement and the Revival are well covered, there
> are names like Singer, Fisher, MacCaig, Jennings, Bunting, Beer ...
> all of whom I had to look up at some point to position
> historically. The anthology features no Synder, Ferlinghetti,
> Bernstein, Levertov, Creely, Nemerov,

Ferlighetti is the only one of those I've read, and what I've read of
his has been incompetent crap.

America has produced many very good poets - such as W C Williams, E A
Robinson and J Berryman - but I can't think of many good American
poets born after about 1920.

Of course, Britain has produced Andrew Motion (le McGonagall de nos
jours), so we don't really have much to boast about.
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-14 04:15:09 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Peter J Ross wrote:
>
> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 17:56:55 +0100, Aidan Tynan wrote:
>
> > "Will Dockery" <***@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> > news:***@posting.google.com...
> >
> >> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a
> >> screenplay (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his
> >> life, Charles`Hank'' Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his
> >> own incredible life,
> >
> > It's always unfortunate when a life is confused with an oeuvre, or
> > when prolific output is confused with good output. Larkin only put
> > out, what, four collections or something, and he *can* be justified
> > as one of the century's greats.
>
> Three good collections - _The Less Deceived_, _The Whitsun Weddings_
> and _High Windows_ - and also _The North Ship_, which is unmemorable
> enough to be called juvenilia.
>
> > Looking through the Harvill anthology of the 20th century anglophone
> > poetry I notice something of a strong British bias, or call it what
> > you will: both the Movement and the Revival are well covered, there
> > are names like Singer, Fisher, MacCaig, Jennings, Bunting, Beer ...
> > all of whom I had to look up at some point to position
> > historically. The anthology features no Synder, Ferlinghetti,
> > Bernstein, Levertov, Creely, Nemerov,
>
> Ferlighetti is the only one of those I've read, and what I've read of
> his has been incompetent crap.

Hey. He gave McKuen McKuen.
>
> America has produced many very good poets - such as W C Williams, E A
> Robinson and J Berryman - but I can't think of many good American
> poets born after about 1920.

WD Snodgrass has the requisite voice, craft, company; if he has a
major fault, it's that he wants universe.
Loren Eiseley has too much universe for most people, but it makes
better company because he hurts in more places at once.
>
> Of course, Britain has produced Andrew Motion (le McGonagall de nos
> jours),

Heh.
You can have Collins if you promise to keep him.

> so we don't really have much to boast about.
> --
> PJR :-)

Frankly, My Dear, you can boast most of /our/ good poets. If your
moderns would pay attention to their own traditions, you'd have
something.
I've a sneaky hunch that Yeats, being Irish, Eliot, being
American, and Auden, becoming American, made it UnBritish for the
British to mine their own national treasures.
Frost, e.g., is no more "provincial" -- or less "contrived" -- in
his material than are Kipling, Housman, or Betjeman.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 16:57:47 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>

> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> Zombie last night."
> Roky Erikson
> ------------------------------------------------------------------

Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps
"embarrassing"
himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
dmh

*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry. The guy
you're responding to hasn't posted poetry here in years, if at all.
I'll continue to post my poetry here, despite the flames from you, and
despite those from your trollis non-poet cronies. As a poet, though,
if you claim that there's not at least some degree of desire for your
work to gain *attention*, then I call you a liar. The poems will
continue from here--- if you and the other trolls ignore them, so much
the better. Or not.

> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.
Beau Blue
2004-06-11 17:42:10 UTC
Reply
Permalink
***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery) wrote:

>From: Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>
>
>> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
>>
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>> Zombie last night."
>> Roky Erikson
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps
>"embarrassing"
>himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
>wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
>dmh
>
>*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.

You're so full of shit! MY, My, my, me, me, me ... you stupid, lazy
bitch. In all the time you've posted here YOU are the center of your
attention. That, and your arrogant belief that you'll succeed no
matter how uninformed you are about the artform, is why most everyone
here thinks you're a loser delivery boy with delusions intelligence.

When you start fighting for an audience (and that means, when you gain
some respect for the craft) you might actually start communicating.
Maybe then those you see as trolls will start doing something other
than jumping your posts and ridiculing your lazy efforts. You wouldn't
recognize poetry if it dragged your lower lip up over your nose and
stapled it to your forehead.

-blue




>The guy
>you're responding to hasn't posted poetry here in years, if at all.
>I'll continue to post my poetry here, despite the flames from you, and
>despite those from your trollis non-poet cronies. As a poet, though,
>if you claim that there's not at least some degree of desire for your
>work to gain *attention*, then I call you a liar. The poems will
>continue from here--- if you and the other trolls ignore them, so much
>the better. Or not.
>
>> [A good article from the archives]:
>>
>> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
>> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
>> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
>> ago this month.
>>
>> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
>> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>>
>> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
>> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
>> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
>> poetic intemperance.
>>
>> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
>> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
>> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
>> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>>
>> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
>> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
>> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
>> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
>> year for the next five years.
>>
>> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
>> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
>> truth.
>>
>> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
>> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
>> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
>> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>>
>> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
>> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
>> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
>> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>>
>> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
>> So does an Irish rock star.
>>
>> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
>> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
>> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
>> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>>
>> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
>> her heart.
>>
>> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>>
>> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
>> nine says this:
>>
>> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
>> first, he is the great man.
>>
>> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
>> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
>> gone.''
>>
>> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>>
>> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
>> to a friend:
>>
>> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
>> something worse.''
>>
>> And those who loved him became disciples.
>>
>> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
>> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
>> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
>> son.''
>>
>> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
>> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
>> him with a razor strap.
>>
>> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>>
>> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
>> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
>> decades) wrote:
>>
>> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
>> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
>> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
>> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
>> who live 10 lives.''
>>
>> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
>> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
>> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>>
>> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
>> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
>> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
>> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>>
>> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
>> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>>
>> those who would write like bukowski
>>
>> know that he, as a young man, loved
>>
>> classical music, wrote every day,
>>
>> read world literature, supported himself
>>
>> without parental or government assistance,
>>
>> and drank a lot.
>>
>> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>>
>> on him as writers
>>
>> they tend to forget everything
>>
>> except the drinking.
>>
>> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
>> and capricious punishment by his father.
>>
>> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
>> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
>> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
>> childish indiscretions.
>>
>> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
>> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
>> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
>> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
>> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>>
>> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
>> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>>
>> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
>> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>>
>> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
>> but millions found meaningful.
>>
>> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
>> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
>> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>>
>> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
>> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
>> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>>
>> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
>> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>>
>> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
>> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
>> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
>> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
>> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>>
>> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
>> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
>> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>>
>> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
>> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
>> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>>
>> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>>
>> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
>> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
>> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
>> presence
>> everywhere:
>>
>> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
>> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
>> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>>
>> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
>> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>>
>> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>>
>> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
>> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
>> at the Glide
>> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>>
>> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
>> humans.''
>>
>> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>>
>> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
>> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
>> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
>> obscure poverty.
>>
>> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
>> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>>
>> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>>
>> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>>
>> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
>> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>>
>> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
>> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
>> have to be love, death, war.''
>>
>> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
>> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
>> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
>> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>>
>> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
>> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
>> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
>> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
>> like me.'''
>>
>> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
>> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
>> Bukowski.
>>
>> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
>> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
>> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>>
>> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
>> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
>> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
>> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
>> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>>
>> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
>> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
>> love ...''
>>
>> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>>
>> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
>> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
>> in Santa Rosa.
>>
>> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
>> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
>> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>>
>> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
>> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
>> previously unpublished work.
>>
>> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
>> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
>> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>>
>> `Don't try.''
>>
>> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
>> refers to as another room of the house.
>>
>> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
>> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>>
>> He tried. He did.
>>
>> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>>
>> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
>> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
>> leave
>> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>>
>> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
>> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
>> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>>
>> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>>
>> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>> comes close.
j r sherman
2004-06-11 21:05:21 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
says...
>
>From: Dale Houstman <***@citilink.com>
>
>> why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?
>>
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>> Zombie last night."
>> Roky Erikson
>> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>Good song. But I must tell you that the reason Will keeps
>"embarrassing"
>himself is because so many of us keep giving him the only thing he
>wants, attention that cannot be otherwise gained.
>dmh
>
>*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.

if only you'd post some.


love and kisses,

j r sherman

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 18:34:38 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: ***@cruzio.com (Beau Blue)

>*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.

> > You're so full of shit!

You're quite loaded, as well, Blue. Glad you showed up again. Who are
you? Renay writes that if I knew who you were, I'd be sucking up.

> > you stupid, lazy bitch.

Yeah, right. Meanwhile, all I've seen you post is this flame garbage.
What's the matter, Blue..? Writer's block? Or perhaps a bit of lazy,
stupid projection? I see *you* whining like a bitch.

> > That, and your arrogant belief that you'll succeed

I've already succeeded. Yeah, I'm arrogant--- and you are a pompous
ass with nothing to back you up, that I've seen. You blow, Blue.

> > you might actually start communicating.

Obviously, I'm communicating something, old son.

=====
Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
http://www.lulu.com/dockery

> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.
-hi- ... LOL
2004-06-11 18:49:03 UTC
Reply
Permalink
>From: ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
>Date: 6/11/2004 2:34 PM Eastern Daylight Time
>Message-id: <***@posting.google.com>

>Yeah, right. Meanwhile, all I've seen you post is this flame garbage.

<ahem>

>I've already succeeded.

<chortle>

"The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski ..."

is, apparently
for the most part,
bucolically misunderstood.

<snort>

-hi-
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 01:00:03 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: ***@yahoo.com (twistyleg)

> Obviously, I'm communicating something, old son.
>
> =====
> Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
> http://www.lulu.com/dockery
>
> > [A good article from the archives]:
> >
> > On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> > whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> > status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> > ago this month.
> >
> > The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> > visit him: ``Don't try.''
> >
> > Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> > challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> > try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> > poetic intemperance.
> >
> > In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> > (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> > Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> > fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
> >
> > Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> > copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> > Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> > sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> > year for the next five years.
> >
> > Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> > adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> > truth.
> >
> > He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> > most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> > legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> > so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
> >
> > He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> > him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> > movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> > his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
> >
> > An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> > So does an Irish rock star.
> >
> > To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> > San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> > offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> > disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
> >
> > To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> > her heart.
> >
> > There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
> >
> > The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> > nine says this:
> >
> > ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> > first, he is the great man.
> >
> > ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> > in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> > gone.''
> >
> > There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> > to a friend:
> >
> > ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> > something worse.''
> >
> > And those who loved him became disciples.
> >
> > Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> > bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> > Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> > son.''
> >
> > He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> > younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> > him with a razor strap.
> >
> > At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
> >
> > To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> > University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> > decades) wrote:
> >
> > ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> > opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> > step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> > in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> > who live 10 lives.''
> >
> > That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> > ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> > novels, recordings and even paintings.
> >
> > But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> > impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> > effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> > sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> > single-minded Bukowski reader:
> >
> > those who would write like bukowski
> >
> > know that he, as a young man, loved
> >
> > classical music, wrote every day,
> >
> > read world literature, supported himself
> >
> > without parental or government assistance,
> >
> > and drank a lot.
> >
> > but when it comes to modeling themselves
> >
> > on him as writers
> >
> > they tend to forget everything
> >
> > except the drinking.
> >
> > In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> > and capricious punishment by his father.
> >
> > A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> > father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> > Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> > childish indiscretions.
> >
> > The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> > his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> > contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> > later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> > mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
> >
> > His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> > maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
> >
> > But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> > liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
> >
> > His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> > but millions found meaningful.
> >
> > ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> > Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> > to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
> >
> > Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> > life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> > employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
> >
> > Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> > in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
> >
> > In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> > artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> > pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> > Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> > cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
> >
> > We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> > routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> > the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
> >
> > He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> > manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> > editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
> >
> > Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
> >
> > And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> > older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> > woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> > presence
> > everywhere:
> >
> > ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> > that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> > sandpaper exterior would suggest.
> >
> > One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> > suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
> >
> > ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
> >
> > ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> > it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> > at the Glide
> > 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
> >
> > ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> > humans.''
> >
> > He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
> >
> > Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> > ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> > whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> > obscure poverty.
> >
> > During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> > bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
> >
> > ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
> >
> > Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
> >
> > And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> > escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
> >
> > ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> > Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> > have to be love, death, war.''
> >
> > It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> > painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> > influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> > different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
> >
> > Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> > used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> > himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> > in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> > like me.'''
> >
> > Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> > visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> > Bukowski.
> >
> > ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> > right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> > a rosy picture of his own gender.''
> >
> > Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> > at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> > Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> > totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> > is where the best poetry comes from.''
> >
> > To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> > wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> > love ...''
> >
> > He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
> >
> > ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> > his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> > in Santa Rosa.
> >
> > ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> > a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> > who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
> >
> > Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> > next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> > previously unpublished work.
> >
> > ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> > Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> > who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
> >
> > `Don't try.''
> >
> > Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> > refers to as another room of the house.
> >
> > ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> > is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
> >
> > He tried. He did.
> >
> > And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
> >
> > We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> > comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> > leave
> > him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
> >
> > ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> > Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> > writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
> >
> > (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
> >
> > ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> > comes close.

Hi, everyone I'm new to this party. Does anyone ever have anything
constructive to say here or is this the clash of the egos?

**** Welcome, Twisty. Yes, a lot of the activity on these newsgroups
is a matter of "target practice on the trolls"... but when ya get a
direct hit, it's great fun to see the tar and feathers fly... then we
gotta put up with the whining...
Will
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 01:48:46 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 11 Jun 2004 17:49:32 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (twistyleg) wrote:

***Hi, everyone I'm new to this party. Does anyone ever have anything
***constructive to say here or is this the clash of the egos?

It's dependent on who is talking and who they are talking to. Serious
people get taken seriously. Morons get skewered.

Joy

**** It's only a matter of who is loudest and more relentless. Joy
roams with a pack that seldom, if ever, post poetry. It's a mob
mentality here, but anyone who survived grade school bullies should be
able to handle this bunch.
Will

Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
> > http://www.lulu.com/dockery
Beau Blue
2004-06-11 21:25:11 UTC
Reply
Permalink
***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery) wrote:

>From: ***@cruzio.com (Beau Blue)
>
>>*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.
>
>> > you might actually start communicating.
>
>Obviously, I'm communicating something, old son.

OK Will,

Yes, and that 'something' is complete, loser bullshit.

You think nobody here's a
match for your prowess at writing
and performing? You're such a boob!
You're so good at this, how many
Pulitzer winners have you shared
a stage with? No, Pulitzer nominees.
Not winners, just nominees, how many?
Too academic for you? How many gold
record holders? How many times on
stage with men of that calibre?
Too corporate for you? OK, how many
National Slam winners call you friend
and have shared the stage with you? Too
rare? OK, how many times at any Slam did
you finish in the money? How many
times have you performed in a venue with
more than 2000 seats? more than 500? 200?
That's filled seats. How many?

Ask yourself now, what do you do to put
pizza on the table? Perform? Write?
Know why you don't? Of course you don't.

Off the top of my head I could name 30 poets
better than Bukowski. Have you even read 30
poets? And I know you think you have, but sadly,
you are the class example of someone without
a comprehending bone in his body.

And the depressing part is your pride in your
ignorance. Enjoy your delusions, delivery boy.
This started with people just wanting you to
get better. You spit your ego at 'em. And you
think they're the trolls. That makes you a rube.
And once again you will not understand.

You want to say you're a kick ass performer? Do
it in New York, San Fransisco, Chicago or LA or
any city of over 500,000. At a major venue, at
least 1000 seats. When you got that, then you can
issue challenges and make stupid statements about
Bukowski.

-blue
ggamble
2004-06-12 00:49:46 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 21:25:11 GMT, ***@cruzio.com (Beau Blue) wrote:

>***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery) wrote:
>
>>From: ***@cruzio.com (Beau Blue)
>>
>>>*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.
>>
>>> > you might actually start communicating.
>>
>>Obviously, I'm communicating something, old son.
>
>OK Will,
>
>Yes, and that 'something' is complete, loser bullshit.
>
>You think nobody here's a
>match for your prowess at writing
>and performing? You're such a boob!
>You're so good at this, how many
>Pulitzer winners have you shared
>a stage with? No, Pulitzer nominees.
>Not winners, just nominees, how many?
>Too academic for you? How many gold
>record holders? How many times on
>stage with men of that calibre?
>Too corporate for you? OK, how many
>National Slam winners call you friend
>and have shared the stage with you? Too
>rare? OK, how many times at any Slam did
>you finish in the money? How many
>times have you performed in a venue with
>more than 2000 seats? more than 500? 200?
>That's filled seats. How many?
>
>Ask yourself now, what do you do to put
>pizza on the table? Perform? Write?
>Know why you don't? Of course you don't.
>
>Off the top of my head I could name 30 poets
>better than Bukowski. Have you even read 30
>poets? And I know you think you have, but sadly,
>you are the class example of someone without
>a comprehending bone in his body.
>
>And the depressing part is your pride in your
>ignorance. Enjoy your delusions, delivery boy.
>This started with people just wanting you to
>get better. You spit your ego at 'em. And you
>think they're the trolls. That makes you a rube.
>And once again you will not understand.
>
>You want to say you're a kick ass performer? Do
>it in New York, San Fransisco, Chicago or LA or
>any city of over 500,000. At a major venue, at
>least 1000 seats. When you got that, then you can
>issue challenges and make stupid statements about
>Bukowski.
>
> -blue



This is what we used to call a
*good, old-fashioned country ass kickin'*

Nice
Peter J Ross
2004-06-14 03:07:59 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 21:25:11 GMT, Beau Blue wrote:

> Off the top of my head I could name 30 poets
> better than Bukowski.

You misspelled "3,000".

> Have you even read 30 poets?

Do we let him count Dr Seuss?
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Will Dockery
2004-06-14 15:25:44 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Peter J Ross wrote:
> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 10:54:04 -0500, Dale Houstman wrote:
>
>
>>j r sherman wrote:
>>
>>
>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
>>>Zombie last night."
>>> Roky Erikson
>>>------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>
>>
>>Good song.
>
>
> I don't know it. I'm rather fond of Dave Edmunds's "The Creature from
> the Black Lagoon". I certainly sing it in the bath often enough.

Dave is a great - mainly unnoticed - rocker. His ex-partner, Nick Lowe,
has a much higher profile, and has done one fine album after another,
although I still like one of his earliest best: "Jesus of Cool."

The Roky song is from a collection that is mostly songs with titles
carped from old horror/sci-fi movies, such as "Man With the Atomic
Brain." The Zombie song is really a tune about a very bad date.

>
> It's certainly better than anything Bukowski even dreamed of writing.

I even pefer ABBA to the Buke.

dmh

**** Certainly easier on the eyes. Whatever happened to them?
twistyleg
2004-06-12 00:49:32 UTC
Reply
Permalink
***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery) wrote in message news:<***@posting.google.com>...
> From: ***@cruzio.com (Beau Blue)
>
> >*** No, Dale. I'm here, first and formost, to post my poetry.
>
> > > You're so full of shit!
>
> You're quite loaded, as well, Blue. Glad you showed up again. Who are
> you? Renay writes that if I knew who you were, I'd be sucking up.
>
> > > you stupid, lazy bitch.
>
> Yeah, right. Meanwhile, all I've seen you post is this flame garbage.
> What's the matter, Blue..? Writer's block? Or perhaps a bit of lazy,
> stupid projection? I see *you* whining like a bitch.
>
> > > That, and your arrogant belief that you'll succeed
>
> I've already succeeded. Yeah, I'm arrogant--- and you are a pompous
> ass with nothing to back you up, that I've seen. You blow, Blue.
>
> > > you might actually start communicating.
>
> Obviously, I'm communicating something, old son.
>
> =====
> Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
> http://www.lulu.com/dockery
>
> > [A good article from the archives]:
> >
> > On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> > whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> > status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> > ago this month.
> >
> > The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> > visit him: ``Don't try.''
> >
> > Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> > challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> > try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> > poetic intemperance.
> >
> > In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> > (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> > Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> > fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
> >
> > Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> > copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> > Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> > sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> > year for the next five years.
> >
> > Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> > adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> > truth.
> >
> > He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> > most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> > legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> > so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
> >
> > He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> > him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> > movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> > his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
> >
> > An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> > So does an Irish rock star.
> >
> > To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> > San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> > offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> > disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
> >
> > To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> > her heart.
> >
> > There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
> >
> > The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> > nine says this:
> >
> > ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> > first, he is the great man.
> >
> > ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> > in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> > gone.''
> >
> > There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> > to a friend:
> >
> > ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> > something worse.''
> >
> > And those who loved him became disciples.
> >
> > Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> > bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> > Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> > son.''
> >
> > He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> > younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> > him with a razor strap.
> >
> > At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
> >
> > To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> > University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> > decades) wrote:
> >
> > ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> > opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> > step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> > in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> > who live 10 lives.''
> >
> > That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> > ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> > novels, recordings and even paintings.
> >
> > But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> > impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> > effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> > sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> > single-minded Bukowski reader:
> >
> > those who would write like bukowski
> >
> > know that he, as a young man, loved
> >
> > classical music, wrote every day,
> >
> > read world literature, supported himself
> >
> > without parental or government assistance,
> >
> > and drank a lot.
> >
> > but when it comes to modeling themselves
> >
> > on him as writers
> >
> > they tend to forget everything
> >
> > except the drinking.
> >
> > In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> > and capricious punishment by his father.
> >
> > A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> > father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> > Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> > childish indiscretions.
> >
> > The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> > his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> > contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> > later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> > mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
> >
> > His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> > maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
> >
> > But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> > liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
> >
> > His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> > but millions found meaningful.
> >
> > ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> > Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> > to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
> >
> > Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> > life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> > employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
> >
> > Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> > in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
> >
> > In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> > artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> > pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> > Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> > cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
> >
> > We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> > routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> > the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
> >
> > He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> > manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> > editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
> >
> > Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
> >
> > And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> > older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> > woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> > presence
> > everywhere:
> >
> > ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> > that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> > sandpaper exterior would suggest.
> >
> > One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> > suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
> >
> > ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
> >
> > ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> > it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> > at the Glide
> > 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
> >
> > ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> > humans.''
> >
> > He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
> >
> > Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> > ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> > whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> > obscure poverty.
> >
> > During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> > bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
> >
> > ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
> >
> > Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
> >
> > And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> > escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
> >
> > ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> > Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> > have to be love, death, war.''
> >
> > It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> > painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> > influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> > different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
> >
> > Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> > used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> > himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> > in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> > like me.'''
> >
> > Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> > visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> > Bukowski.
> >
> > ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> > right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> > a rosy picture of his own gender.''
> >
> > Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> > at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> > Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> > totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> > is where the best poetry comes from.''
> >
> > To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> > wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> > love ...''
> >
> > He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
> >
> > ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> > his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> > in Santa Rosa.
> >
> > ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> > a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> > who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
> >
> > Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> > next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> > previously unpublished work.
> >
> > ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> > Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> > who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
> >
> > `Don't try.''
> >
> > Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> > refers to as another room of the house.
> >
> > ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> > is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
> >
> > He tried. He did.
> >
> > And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
> >
> > We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> > comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> > leave
> > him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
> >
> > ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> > Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> > writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
> >
> > (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
> >
> > ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> > comes close.

Hi, everyone I'm new to this party. Does anyone ever have anything
constructive to say here or is this the clash of the egos?
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-12 01:22:33 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 11 Jun 2004 17:49:32 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (twistyleg) wrote:

***Hi, everyone I'm new to this party. Does anyone ever have anything
***constructive to say here or is this the clash of the egos?



It's dependent on who is talking and who they are talking to. Saying
anything constructive to Upchuck, Mockery or TomTom is pointless as
they won't get it. Serious people get taken seriously. Morons get
skewered.

What makes a moron, you may ask? Racism, sexist, psychotic stalking
and or threatening are on the list but so is refusing to accept
critique, flooding the newsgroup with dozens of poems, demanding
people give you critique, and believing that poetry is a sugary
secretion of your syrupy soul, the sacred draft of the Hallmark gods
instead of work requiring literacy, reading, and revision. Much of
what gets said that is constructive gets lost or ignored.

There's also the fact that most people here are word people and we get
hot under the colour when we see what we love being abused. Not
surprisingly we fight back with words.

It's often best to lurk around for a while and see who makes sense,
who posts poetry, who gives and who takes critique.

Joy




Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Tom Bishop
2004-06-12 10:54:33 UTC
Reply
Permalink
> There's also the fact that most people here are word people and we get
> hot under the colour when we see what we love being abused. Not
> surprisingly we fight back with words.

Value added savior kook.

All you do is flame chuckie and dockery and turn the place into
a ratfuck mess like your asterisks.


>
> It's often best to lurk around for a while and see who makes sense,
> who posts poetry, who gives and who takes critique.

I did.

No one makes enough cents to buy a donut hole.

You are a vacuous kook who occasionally produces a reasonable
poem but otherwise prances around like a puckered butthole.
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 15:00:12 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Rob Evans wrote:

> Oh-oh! I don't think mis-attribution will get you out of this one,
> Will. Blue had a list of killer-questions. You don't convincingly kick
> ass while carefully side-stepping.

This is rich. First off: you don't write much poetry, Rob, or do you
write, but just rarely post it here? The only way to *really* kick ass
here is to put some poems up. The flame games are the real "careful
side-stepping".

Wrong, Rob. Never heard of "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?"
The Rope-A-Dope? Kicking ass while side stepping.

But your perception of Blue Blow "kicking my ass" is just that: your
perception.

Hey, Blue asked me how much money I made as a poet. Not much. Not the
first poet in this position. Billy Collins makes plenty of money with
poetry--- that makes him the best, eh?

Blue came off crass with this angle. Of course you and your fuckwit
troll buddies want to see this as a victory for you against the
Dockery. All the jeering and insults you and the others can dredge up
will not drive me away, much less "kick my ass".

Yeah, I'm a lower class, self taught street poet. Proud of this fact,
obviously. The rules of your elite do not apply. There will be poems
from me today, tommorow, and, in fact until the day I die! I'm here
virtually forever, get it?

Anyway, I just woke up, I'm still bleary eyed and I need my coffee...
a big cup sitting here as I type... I'll have a sip and wait for the
next rounds of insults about pizza boys and how many government grants
I *haven't* won, and how my beard and afro are unbecoming... et
cetera... while the vast majority of you writing all these shallow
posts *still* will not post poetry, and another day goes on.

I'll post some poems.

But I won't suck up to any of you.

=====
Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
http://www.lulu.com/dockery
Rob Evans
2004-06-12 16:18:23 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In message <***@posting.google.com>, Will
Dockery <***@yahoo.com> writes
>Rob Evans wrote:
>
>> Oh-oh! I don't think mis-attribution will get you out of this one,
>> Will. Blue had a list of killer-questions. You don't convincingly kick
>> ass while carefully side-stepping.
>
>This is rich. First off: you don't write much poetry, Rob,

Incorrect.

>or do you
>write, but just rarely post it here?

Correct.

> The only way to *really* kick ass
>here is to put some poems up.

Incorrect. The only way to kick ass is to perform it to non-hippy
audiences who've paid and expect to get something in return.

> The flame games are the real "careful
>side-stepping".

I think you side-step often and the flame games help you in this
respect. You've endlessly posted Left Handed Summer which jr often calls
shit. You then argue a few rounds and eventually you re-post.

It isn't shit but it isn't a good poem either. Some time back it got a
reasonably sympathetic crit from someone (forget who) who asked a lot of
questions about the bits that didn't make sense. I don't recall you
giving any answers (possibly because you didn't have any). Ergo, not
necessarily shit but definitely flawed.
>
>Wrong, Rob. Never heard of "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?"

Yes - it's a cliche and will thus undoubtedly appear in one of your
future poems as a link between two indecipherable bits.

>The Rope-A-Dope? Kicking ass while side stepping.
>
>But your perception of Blue Blow "kicking my ass" is just that: your
>perception.

That is true but I would argue that a perception affected by detailed
argument has more value than one that responds to mere rhetoric.
>
>Hey, Blue asked me how much money I made as a poet. Not much. Not the
>first poet in this position. Billy Collins makes plenty of money with
>poetry--- that makes him the best, eh?

That... and the several published collections... and the laureateship...
and the sell-out readings to audiences who do not rely on
substance-abuse to heighten their perceptions.
>
>Blue came off crass with this angle. Of course you and your fuckwit
>troll buddies want to see this as a victory for you against the
>Dockery. All the jeering and insults you and the others can dredge up
>will not drive me away, much less "kick my ass".

a) they are not my buddies.
b) they mostly appear perfectly rational (if a little harsh, at times)
c) I personally don't care who has a victory over who but you clearly
(as you say - in my perception) got your asked by Blue this time.
d) Even if such a thing were possible, I would have no desire to drive
you away.
e) I'm pretty sure that you have never been jeered at by me.
>
>Yeah, I'm a lower class, self taught street poet. Proud of this fact,
>obviously. The rules of your elite do not apply.

Please! Class has fuck all to do with any crit of your poetry. As for
being self-taught, well the quality of that education depends on the
teacher and the tools used, doesn't it? I don't have an elite (another
easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
rules, they are the basic building blocks:

a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
space
c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
footnotes

If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
you're keeping a diary.

> There will be poems
>from me today, tommorow, and, in fact until the day I die! I'm here
>virtually forever, get it?

Get this - I don't care. This is not about driving you away. Not
valuing your poetry is nothing personal.
>
>Anyway, I just woke up, I'm still bleary eyed and I need my coffee...
>a big cup sitting here as I type... I'll have a sip and wait for the
>next rounds of insults about pizza boys and how many government grants
>I *haven't* won, and how my beard and afro are unbecoming... et
>cetera... while the vast majority of you writing all these shallow
>posts *still* will not post poetry, and another day goes on.

And I don't remember ever commenting on your job. In the context of
this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro or Tommy
you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy important and
hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use fantasies about
their work to support their arguments here.
>
>I'll post some poems.
>
>But I won't suck up to any of you.
>
It has never been a requirement.

Rob
--
Rob Evans
Tom Bishop
2004-06-13 01:39:13 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Rob Evans", remarked:

<gubber snip>

> And I don't remember ever commenting on your job. In the context of
> this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro or Tommy
> you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy important and
> hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use fantasies about
> their work to support their arguments here.

I have never posted any fantasy about my work.

I am a notable but quite forgettable programmer
that made a lot of money and had godawful
fun in the 90's.

I worked for 25+ years in first hardware and then
microcomputers (at "Pragmatic Designs" in the '70's )
and then micro software (at Micropro in '80)
[..their first "C" programmer to create a "generic" install...]
into relational databases at Ingres for 6 years were I project
lead 2 very major projects (WYSIWYG Application Generation Systems
in two generations with several world tours) before Ingres was
subsumed by various corporate entities. (Some I danced with,
AKA Sandra Kurtsig, founder of "ASK" which CA subsumed
after aquiring Ingres.)
.
To Oracle in '94 for 4 years where I project lead several things but
notably the first "Replication Manager" program which managed
snapshot and symetric replication in Oracle Databases.
(All pre-98)

Since then I've exclusively /DIDDLED/ due to deteriorating
physical conditions (artificial hip from accident at age 20)
and my /PEROGATIVE/ and other things which I'm not
going to talk about.

My DIDDLINGS have resulted in substantial interesting
material to anyone interested in language.






> >
> >I'll post some poems.
> >
> >But I won't suck up to any of you.
> >
> It has never been a requirement.

I like you, Rob.
Sorry about fucking with you over the Edin- thingie.

Congrats, but whatever.

>
> Rob
> --
> Rob Evans
>
Will Dockery
2004-06-13 20:46:54 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Tom Bishop" <***@sbc-elidethis-global.net> wrote in message news:<40cbb040$0$21985$***@news.usenetguide.com>...
> "Rob Evans", remarked:
>
> <gubber snip>
>
> > And I don't remember ever commenting on your job. In the context of
> > this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro or Tommy
> > you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy important and
> > hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use fantasies about
> > their work to support their arguments here.
>
> I have never posted any fantasy about my work.
>
> I am a notable but quite forgettable programmer
> that made a lot of money and had godawful
> fun in the 90's.

Well, it's well known that programmers generally make a *lot* of money
[at least in comparison with pizza delivery people and such] so I
don't really understand why these people insist that you're making it
all up.

You may remember when we first met, Hazel and I thought you might be
her erstwhile brother-in-law, Zero Hex, who does very similar work,
and had quite a heyday in the 1990s, as well.

Hex made an astounding jump to prosperity, by taking an interest in
computers relatively early on, when he was a usually out-of-work
saxophone player, painter and poet.

Astounding, because during the 1980s, I in my relatively meager job in
a local carpet mill, was the one who was considered *in the money*,
and was the one who bought the coffees and sandwiches for Hex, and the
other poet/artists of Shadowville at the time, Jon E. Jones [who,
sadly died a couple of years ago] and Tom Snelling, one of the best
writers anywhere [who Hazel and I suspect may also have passed, a
seance we held last year seemed to perhaps confirm this: during the
seance, we both saw a shadowy bearded figure on a dirt road in
shimmering bright golden light, and Cassonya, head witch of Isis
House, said she kept hearing the name "Thomas"] at Shoneys, Waffle
House and whatnot.

When he re entered our lives in 2000, he made good on all the years
Hazel and me helped him--- scrambled eggs breakfasts, with steak! And
so on.

During the 1980s, in trade for smoke money, coffee, whatever, Zero
would trade me artwork, poems, songs, and I even commisioned him to
write scripts for my series of mini comix of the time, "Demon House
Theatre", "River Mutants", "Iron-I", "Fathos" and so on, some of which
remain unproduced. Marvellous writings.

Thanks for spurring this little astral trip through memory... I don't
see Zero Hex anymore, these days, and Hazel and I have long-since
split.

Maybe I'll dig those old scripts up out of the archives in the shed
and convert 'em to my current comix project, Feardevil. By the way,
anyone who might be interested in a copy of the Feardevil comic, just
sent me an SASE to:

Will Dockery
P.O.Box 7394
Columbus Georgia 31908

And I'll be happy to zip one your way... and if anyone out there knows
Zero, tell the old guy I said hello. Miss the old cuss.


> I worked for 25+ years in first hardware and then
> microcomputers (at "Pragmatic Designs" in the '70's )
> and then micro software (at Micropro in '80)
> [..their first "C" programmer to create a "generic" install...]
> into relational databases at Ingres for 6 years were I project
> lead 2 very major projects (WYSIWYG Application Generation Systems
> in two generations with several world tours) before Ingres was
> subsumed by various corporate entities. (Some I danced with,
> AKA Sandra Kurtsig, founder of "ASK" which CA subsumed
> after aquiring Ingres.)
> .
> To Oracle in '94 for 4 years where I project lead several things but
> notably the first "Replication Manager" program which managed
> snapshot and symetric replication in Oracle Databases.
> (All pre-98)
>
> Since then I've exclusively /DIDDLED/ due to deteriorating
> physical conditions (artificial hip from accident at age 20)
> and my /PEROGATIVE/ and other things which I'm not
> going to talk about.
>
> My DIDDLINGS have resulted in substantial interesting
> material to anyone interested in language.
>
>
>
>
>
>
> > >
> > >I'll post some poems.
> > >
> > >But I won't suck up to any of you.
> > >
> > It has never been a requirement.
>
> I like you, Rob.
> Sorry about fucking with you over the Edin- thingie.
>
> Congrats, but whatever.
>
> >
> > Rob
> > --
> > Rob Evans
> >
Tom Bishop
2004-06-13 22:03:18 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Will Dockery", remarked:
> "Tom Bishop" <***@sbc-elidethis-global.net> wrote in message news:<40cbb040$0$21985$***@news.usenetguide.com>...
> > "Rob Evans", remarked:
> >
> > <gubber snip>
> >
> > > And I don't remember ever commenting on your job. In the context of
> > > this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro or Tommy
> > > you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy important and
> > > hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use fantasies about
> > > their work to support their arguments here.
> >
> > I have never posted any fantasy about my work.
> >
> > I am a notable but quite forgettable programmer
> > that made a lot of money and had godawful
> > fun in the 90's.
>
> Well, it's well known that programmers generally make a *lot* of money
> [at least in comparison with pizza delivery people and such] so I
> don't really understand why these people insist that you're making it
> all up.

I'm frankly quite hard to believe.

:-)



>
> You may remember when we first met, Hazel and I thought you might be
> her erstwhile brother-in-law, Zero Hex, who does very similar work,
> and had quite a heyday in the 1990s, as well.
>
> Hex made an astounding jump to prosperity, by taking an interest in
> computers relatively early on, when he was a usually out-of-work
> saxophone player, painter and poet.

I was somewhat lucky, but I was also more talented than most.

:-)


>
> Astounding, because during the 1980s, I in my relatively meager job in
> a local carpet mill, was the one who was considered *in the money*,
> and was the one who bought the coffees and sandwiches for Hex, and the
> other poet/artists of Shadowville at the time, Jon E. Jones [who,
> sadly died a couple of years ago] and Tom Snelling, one of the best
> writers anywhere [who Hazel and I suspect may also have passed, a
> seance we held last year seemed to perhaps confirm this: during the
> seance, we both saw a shadowy bearded figure on a dirt road in
> shimmering bright golden light, and Cassonya, head witch of Isis
> House, said she kept hearing the name "Thomas"] at Shoneys, Waffle
> House and whatnot.
>
> When he re entered our lives in 2000, he made good on all the years
> Hazel and me helped him--- scrambled eggs breakfasts, with steak! And
> so on.

Breakfast in bed?


>
> During the 1980s, in trade for smoke money, coffee, whatever, Zero
> would trade me artwork, poems, songs, and I even commisioned him to
> write scripts for my series of mini comix of the time, "Demon House
> Theatre", "River Mutants", "Iron-I", "Fathos" and so on, some of which
> remain unproduced. Marvellous writings.
>
> Thanks for spurring this little astral trip through memory... I don't
> see Zero Hex anymore, these days, and Hazel and I have long-since
> split.
>
> Maybe I'll dig those old scripts up out of the archives in the shed
> and convert 'em to my current comix project, Feardevil. By the way,
> anyone who might be interested in a copy of the Feardevil comic, just
> sent me an SASE to:
>
> Will Dockery
> P.O.Box 7394
> Columbus Georgia 31908
>
> And I'll be happy to zip one your way... and if anyone out there knows
> Zero, tell the old guy I said hello. Miss the old cuss.


You are a kick.



>
>
> > I worked for 25+ years in first hardware and then
> > microcomputers (at "Pragmatic Designs" in the '70's )
> > and then micro software (at Micropro in '80)
> > [..their first "C" programmer to create a "generic" install...]
> > into relational databases at Ingres for 6 years were I project
> > lead 2 very major projects (WYSIWYG Application Generation Systems
> > in two generations with several world tours) before Ingres was
> > subsumed by various corporate entities. (Some I danced with,
> > AKA Sandra Kurtsig, founder of "ASK" which CA subsumed
> > after aquiring Ingres.)
> > .
> > To Oracle in '94 for 4 years where I project lead several things but
> > notably the first "Replication Manager" program which managed
> > snapshot and symetric replication in Oracle Databases.
> > (All pre-98)
> >
> > Since then I've exclusively /DIDDLED/ due to deteriorating
> > physical conditions (artificial hip from accident at age 20)
> > and my /PEROGATIVE/ and other things which I'm not
> > going to talk about.
> >
> > My DIDDLINGS have resulted in substantial interesting
> > material to anyone interested in language.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > > >
> > > >I'll post some poems.
> > > >
> > > >But I won't suck up to any of you.
> > > >
> > > It has never been a requirement.
> >
> > I like you, Rob.
> > Sorry about fucking with you over the Edin- thingie.
> >
> > Congrats, but whatever.
> >
> > >
> > > Rob
> > > --
> > > Rob Evans
> > >
>
Aidan Tynan
2004-06-13 16:51:26 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...

I don't have an elite (another
> easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
> rules, they are the basic building blocks:
>
> a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh

This applies in most cases at a certain level, but a quick look at a few
poems by Lowel or Muldoon or even Heaney shows the use of common phrases
like "the best of both words" (from Muldoon's "Mules"). The idea that every
line must consist of unusual phrasing usually results in a clamourous
syntax, an inconsistent voice and an impairment of meaning.

> b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
> space

I'd argue that repetition, ie parallelism, is what makes poetry work. How
could rhyme exist without repetition? How could any sort of development
occur in a poem without the repetition of images, sounds, phrases, concepts?
This isn't the same as simply repeating oneself: poetry is, like all art, a
type of patterning.

> c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
> footnotes

Again, I disagree. Check out Heaney's "Anahorish", or indeed many of his
other poems. Lowell's work is even more dense with local allusions, which
leads me onto my next disagreement ...

>
> If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
> you're keeping a diary.

A lot of Lowell's work is a record of his personal experience and a lot of
stuff pejoratively termed Confessionalism is like this. Muldoon's Prince of
the Quotidian *is* a diary written as poetry. What I find is that a lot of
people tend to reject their local world in favour of some outlandish
mise-en-scene because it seems more "poetic" or something, when in fact the
banality of everyday life is where the poetry is.

The advice you give here is applicable only to work which specificly suffers
from a misuse of the personal genre, an over reliance on common terms, or
some other problems, but by no means does constitutes the "building blocks".
The elements of poetry are the semiotic: sound, significance, and sense. One
could go further and demand an attention to voice and register, formal and
thematic development, and a dramatic interrelation of sound and meaning, but
we all know of poems which lack some or all of these and still manage to be
good poetry by possessing some esoteric qualities. As soon as you go beyond
the bare minimum of the semiotic, the term "building blocks" applies less
and less and "conventional technique" has more and more relevance.



-Aidan
--
Imagine a forest
A real forest. -- W.S. Graham
Tom Bishop
2004-06-13 18:35:22 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Aidan Tynan", remarked:
>
> "Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
> news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...
>
> I don't have an elite (another
> > easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
> > rules, they are the basic building blocks:
> >
> > a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
>
> This applies in most cases at a certain level, but a quick look at a few
> poems by Lowel or Muldoon or even Heaney shows the use of common phrases
> like "the best of both words" (from Muldoon's "Mules"). The idea that every
> line must consist of unusual phrasing usually results in a clamourous
> syntax, an inconsistent voice and an impairment of meaning.

I can tell you've been around.

>
> > b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
> > space
>
> I'd argue that repetition, ie parallelism, is what makes poetry work.

Clearly.

Clearly.



> How
> could rhyme exist without repetition? How could any sort of development
> occur in a poem without the repetition of images, sounds, phrases, concepts?
> This isn't the same as simply repeating oneself: poetry is, like all art, a
> type of patterning.

A way to apply cleverness.



>
> > c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
> > footnotes
>
> Again, I disagree.

Of course... It is the specificity that yields concreteness,
carries image, in at least many cases.

> Check out Heaney's "Anahorish", or indeed many of his
> other poems. Lowell's work is even more dense with local allusions, which
> leads me onto my next disagreement ...
>
> >
> > If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
> > you're keeping a diary.
>
> A lot of Lowell's work is a record of his personal experience and a lot of
> stuff pejoratively termed Confessionalism is like this. Muldoon's Prince of
> the Quotidian *is* a diary written as poetry. What I find is that a lot of
> people tend to reject their local world in favour of some outlandish
> mise-en-scene because it seems more "poetic" or something, when in fact the
> banality of everyday life is where the poetry is.
>
> The advice you give here is applicable only to work which specificly suffers
> from a misuse of the personal genre, an over reliance on common terms, or
> some other problems, but by no means does constitutes the "building blocks".
> The elements of poetry are the semiotic: sound, significance, and sense.

Poetry: condensed form of writing where...

> One
> could go further and demand an attention to voice and register, formal and
> thematic development, and a dramatic interrelation of sound and meaning, but
> we all know of poems which lack some or all of these and still manage to be
> good poetry by possessing some esoteric qualities. As soon as you go beyond
> the bare minimum of the semiotic, the term "building blocks" applies less
> and less and "conventional technique" has more and more relevance.

I wish you would Aidan more.

>
>
>
> -Aidan
> --
> Imagine a forest
> A real forest. -- W.S. Graham
>
>
>
Rob Evans
2004-06-13 19:00:11 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In message <fC%yc.2141$***@news.indigo.ie>, Aidan Tynan
<***@REMOVEeircom.net> writes
>
>"Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
>news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...
>
> I don't have an elite (another
>> easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
>> rules, they are the basic building blocks:
>>
>> a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
>
>This applies in most cases at a certain level, but a quick look at a few
>poems by Lowel or Muldoon or even Heaney shows the use of common phrases
>like "the best of both words" (from Muldoon's "Mules"). The idea that every
>line must consist of unusual phrasing usually results in a clamourous
>syntax, an inconsistent voice and an impairment of meaning.

Like most rules, this one can be broken by the righteous. Heaney often
uses cliche when he's working in a conversational mode. As for Muldoon
(often) and Lowell (more so) the odd cliche would be like tiny windows
of clarity in great opaque walls (for me, anyway).
>
>> b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
>> space
>
>I'd argue that repetition, ie parallelism, is what makes poetry work. How
>could rhyme exist without repetition? How could any sort of development
>occur in a poem without the repetition of images, sounds, phrases, concepts?
>This isn't the same as simply repeating oneself: poetry is, like all art, a
>type of patterning.

I was arguing against repetition as... repetition. You can get away
with it as a chorus, refrain or mantra but in the poem I was referring
to that was hardly the case.
>
>> c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
>> footnotes
>
>Again, I disagree. Check out Heaney's "Anahorish", or indeed many of his
>other poems. Lowell's work is even more dense with local allusions, which
>leads me onto my next disagreement ...

The point is that if you are a notable poet, the critics and the readers
will take the trouble to track down the allusions. Even so, many poets
would supply a footnote to the more obscure ones and I've never heard a
reading by an Irish poet in the UK where he/she didn't bother to explain
any vernacular and the local references when introducing a poem.

If your an unknown poet writing about your personal mythology of local
characters you either explain or it makes no sense. If the poem has any
sort of lyrical quality, you'll get away with it as mouth-music, I
suppose. Even Lowell deigned to offer an explanation from time to time.
>
>>
>> If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
>> you're keeping a diary.
>
>A lot of Lowell's work is a record of his personal experience and a lot of
>stuff pejoratively termed Confessionalism is like this. Muldoon's Prince of
>the Quotidian *is* a diary written as poetry. What I find is that a lot of
>people tend to reject their local world in favour of some outlandish
>mise-en-scene because it seems more "poetic" or something, when in fact the
>banality of everyday life is where the poetry is.

For every fine diary, there are hundreds of self-indulgent scribbles.
You keep citing two poets for whom I have no particularly high regard
(Muldoon and Lowell) but I recognise their skills. However, here those
particular skills are something to aim for after getting the basics
right.
>
>The advice you give here is applicable only to work which specificly suffers
>from a misuse of the personal genre, an over reliance on common terms, or
>some other problems,

Which was the whole point.

> but by no means does constitutes the "building blocks".

I was trying to avoid any impression of rules. Building blocks will do
for the time being: the idea being that you should learn to plane wood
before you start constructing the furniture.

>The elements of poetry are the semiotic: sound, significance, and sense.

All true but too often here sound is made at the expense of sense and
every bloody poster is convinced of "significance".
> One
>could go further and demand an attention to voice and register, formal and
>thematic development, and a dramatic interrelation of sound and meaning, but
>we all know of poems which lack some or all of these and still manage to be
>good poetry by possessing some esoteric qualities.

Again, all true but (hush! you elitist fool) unlikely to be accepted by
the "poets of the streets".

> As soon as you go beyond
>the bare minimum of the semiotic, the term "building blocks" applies less
>and less and "conventional technique" has more and more relevance.
>
Absolutely, but first you have to want to go and second you have to go
in the right direction. Shall we substitute "starting blocks" for
"building blocks"?

Rob
>

--
Rob Evans
Poetry is the needle that pricks your finger.
Everything else is the haystack.
Aidan Tynan
2004-06-13 22:51:25 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...

>
> The point is that if you are a notable poet, the critics and the readers
> will take the trouble to track down the allusions. Even so, many poets
> would supply a footnote to the more obscure ones

Personally, I don't like when poets do that since I tend to enjoy the
obscurity even in my bafflement (Lowell's a great example of this: what the
hell is "Skunk Hour" about?) though in Eliot's case it was a "I wished he'd
explain his explanations" type thing.

>
> Again, all true but (hush! you elitist fool) unlikely to be accepted by
> the "poets of the streets".

I'm mad bad
and dangerous
to know.


Honestly, Will Dockery's contention that coming from a lower middle class
background constitutes "impossible odds" against writing poetry is one of
the more irritating misapprehentions doing the rounds here of late,
especially when one considers that some great writers actually *did* face
real obstacles, and that working class poets can and do exist without much
fuss being made regarding their social origins. As for being "self-taught",
one need only point to Thomas Hardy or numerous others. As metiers go,
poetry involes far less elitism than being a professional football player,
stand up comedian or piano tuner do these days.

-Aidan
--
Imagine a forest
A real forest. -- W.S. Graham
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-14 04:25:58 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Rob Evans wrote:
>
...
>
> The point is that if you are a notable poet, the critics and the readers
> will take the trouble to track down the allusions. Even so, many poets
> would supply a footnote to the more obscure ones and I've never heard a
> reading by an Irish poet in the UK where he/she didn't bother to explain
> any vernacular and the local references when introducing a poem.
>
HAH!
One of the most notable failures to track a notable Kulchural
reference made by a notable of that Kulchur is Henderson's failure
to render Buson's

rattles gate
throws down sword
winter storm

Henderson explains that a samurai comes out of the storm and demands
shelter.
That isn't even haiku.
The /storm/ throws down a sword of snow (through the door crack),
i.e., is so bad it demands shelter from itself.
That is /astonishing/ haiku.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-14 04:17:31 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Aidan Tynan wrote:
>
> "Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
> news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...
>
> I don't have an elite (another
> > easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
> > rules, they are the basic building blocks:
> >
> > a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
>
> This applies in most cases at a certain level, but a quick look at a few
> poems by Lowel or Muldoon or even Heaney shows the use of common phrases
> like "the best of both words" (from Muldoon's "Mules"). The idea that every
> line must consist of unusual phrasing usually results in a clamourous
> syntax, an inconsistent voice and an impairment of meaning.
>
> > b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
> > space
>
> I'd argue that repetition, ie parallelism, is what makes poetry work. How
> could rhyme exist without repetition? How could any sort of development
> occur in a poem without the repetition of images, sounds, phrases, concepts?
> This isn't the same as simply repeating oneself: poetry is, like all art, a
> type of patterning.
>
> > c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
> > footnotes
>
> Again, I disagree. Check out Heaney's "Anahorish", or indeed many of his
> other poems. Lowell's work is even more dense with local allusions, which
> leads me onto my next disagreement ...
>
> >
> > If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
> > you're keeping a diary.
>
> A lot of Lowell's work is a record of his personal experience and a lot of
> stuff pejoratively termed Confessionalism is like this. Muldoon's Prince of
> the Quotidian *is* a diary written as poetry. What I find is that a lot of
> people tend to reject their local world in favour of some outlandish
> mise-en-scene because it seems more "poetic" or something, when in fact the
> banality of everyday life is where the poetry is.
>
> The advice you give here is applicable only to work which specificly suffers
> from a misuse of the personal genre, an over reliance on common terms, or
> some other problems, but by no means does constitutes the "building blocks".
> The elements of poetry are the semiotic: sound, significance, and sense. One
> could go further and demand an attention to voice and register, formal and
> thematic development, and a dramatic interrelation of sound and meaning, but
> we all know of poems which lack some or all of these and still manage to be
> good poetry by possessing some esoteric qualities. As soon as you go beyond
> the bare minimum of the semiotic, the term "building blocks" applies less
> and less and "conventional technique" has more and more relevance.
>
> -Aidan
> --
> Imagine a forest
> A real forest. -- W.S. Graham

What he said.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Tom Bishop
2004-06-14 04:40:09 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Dennis M. Hammes", remarked:
> Aidan Tynan wrote:
> >
> > "Rob Evans" <***@mla001.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
> > news:***@mla001.demon.co.uk...
> >
> > I don't have an elite (another
> > > easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more than
> > > rules, they are the basic building blocks:
> > >
> > > a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
> >
> > This applies in most cases at a certain level, but a quick look at a few
> > poems by Lowel or Muldoon or even Heaney shows the use of common phrases
> > like "the best of both words" (from Muldoon's "Mules"). The idea that every
> > line must consist of unusual phrasing usually results in a clamourous
> > syntax, an inconsistent voice and an impairment of meaning.
> >
> > > b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
> > > space
> >
> > I'd argue that repetition, ie parallelism, is what makes poetry work. How
> > could rhyme exist without repetition? How could any sort of development
> > occur in a poem without the repetition of images, sounds, phrases, concepts?
> > This isn't the same as simply repeating oneself: poetry is, like all art, a
> > type of patterning.
> >
> > > c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
> > > footnotes
> >
> > Again, I disagree. Check out Heaney's "Anahorish", or indeed many of his
> > other poems. Lowell's work is even more dense with local allusions, which
> > leads me onto my next disagreement ...
> >
> > >
> > > If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
> > > you're keeping a diary.
> >
> > A lot of Lowell's work is a record of his personal experience and a lot of
> > stuff pejoratively termed Confessionalism is like this. Muldoon's Prince of
> > the Quotidian *is* a diary written as poetry. What I find is that a lot of
> > people tend to reject their local world in favour of some outlandish
> > mise-en-scene because it seems more "poetic" or something, when in fact the
> > banality of everyday life is where the poetry is.
> >
> > The advice you give here is applicable only to work which specificly suffers
> > from a misuse of the personal genre, an over reliance on common terms, or
> > some other problems, but by no means does constitutes the "building blocks".
> > The elements of poetry are the semiotic: sound, significance, and sense. One
> > could go further and demand an attention to voice and register, formal and
> > thematic development, and a dramatic interrelation of sound and meaning, but
> > we all know of poems which lack some or all of these and still manage to be
> > good poetry by possessing some esoteric qualities. As soon as you go beyond
> > the bare minimum of the semiotic, the term "building blocks" applies less
> > and less and "conventional technique" has more and more relevance.
> >
> > -Aidan
> > --
> > Imagine a forest
> > A real forest. -- W.S. Graham
>
> What he said.

I figgered.

> --
> -------(m+
> ~/:o)_|
> The most essential gift for a good writer is
> a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
> http://scrawlmark.org
>
Pete's Newsgroups
2004-07-20 03:21:21 UTC
Reply
Permalink
I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/ or the way we
see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
on your own feelings.

There are basics that we follow for sure but to make a poem truely ours we
have to have a unique segnature if you will which sets us apart from
everyone else. If we all followed the same guidelines to the tee don't you
think we'd all be writing pretty much similar to each other.

Take the time to think before you write your reply emails to people because
i feel we don't all have to agree on how one person writes his/her work.
There are many people out there who will like keats for instance yet others
will hate keats thinging he's a complete nut job, while liking banjo
patterson instead.

I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to our
becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
doesn't get off the ground.

Kerri
Peter J Ross
2004-07-20 04:02:32 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Tue, 20 Jul 2004 13:21:21 +1000, Pete's Newsgroups wrote:

> I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/

Why do I get the impression that any "poetry" written by somebody who
is of this opinion would be more like an expression of his bladder?

<clueless drivel snipped>

Btw, the world's greatest dead Australian is Banjo *Paterson*, with
only one T. Even if you can't spell words like "signature" and
"thinking", you could at least try to get people's name's right.
--
PJR :-)
alt.usenet.kooks award-winners and FAQs:
http://www.insurgent.org/~kook-faq/

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Dale Houstman
2004-07-20 04:32:46 UTC
Reply
Permalink
Pete's Newsgroups wrote:
> I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/ or the way we
> see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
> forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
> on your own feelings.

What's a "soul"?

I began writing because I was interested in language. what makes work
"our own" is the degree and quality of our committment to language.
Personally I find most "feelings" (mine included) to be dull as dirt.
Only the mode of expression renders them readable and unique.
>
> I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
> from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
> because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to our
> becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
> doesn't get off the ground.

The entire notion of "professional writer" (semi or not) quite sickens me.

dmh
Tom Bishop
2004-07-20 12:04:19 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Dale Houstman" <***@citilink.com> wrote in message news:***@citilink.com...
>
>
> Pete's Newsgroups wrote:
> > I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/ or the way we
> > see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
> > forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
> > on your own feelings.
>
> What's a "soul"?
>
> I began writing because I was interested in language. what makes work
> "our own" is the degree and quality of our committment to language.
> Personally I find most "feelings" (mine included) to be dull as dirt.
> Only the mode of expression renders them readable and unique.
> >
> > I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
> > from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
> > because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to our
> > becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
> > doesn't get off the ground.
>
> The entire notion of "professional writer" (semi or not) quite sickens me.

Right, mainly because you can't make money at it.

You are a failure in life, and your GREAT knowledge of poetry
is your compensating tricycle.


>
> dmh
>
>
>
Aidan Tynan
2004-07-20 13:33:17 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Dale Houstman" <***@citilink.com> wrote in message news:***@citilink.com...
>
>
> Pete's Newsgroups wrote:
> > I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/ or the way we
> > see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
> > forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
> > on your own feelings.
>
> What's a "soul"?

"The soul is prison of the body", M. Foucault.

>
> I began writing because I was interested in language. what makes work
> "our own" is the degree and quality of our committment to language.

Then we have the questions, "what is language? what is language's role
is the connections between feeling and being?" Thought itself is
linguistic, but so perhaps are our "gut" feelings, what we may express
in a scream or a cry. In this sense, the dis-ordering of language, the
overcoming of its social function and a relapse to those primal
conditions is poetry's categorical imperative. This is what Wordsworth
meant with the "spontaneous overflow" remark that has encouraged many
a bowel-spilling over the years.




> Personally I find most "feelings" (mine included) to be dull as dirt.
> Only the mode of expression renders them readable and unique.
> >
> > I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
> > from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
> > because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to our
> > becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
> > doesn't get off the ground.
>
> The entire notion of "professional writer" (semi or not) quite sickens me.

I quite like the idea of "professional pancake eater", though.


-Aidan
--
But I say: Let my country die for me. -- Stephen Dedalus


>
> dmh
>
>
>
Renay St. James
2004-07-20 12:23:23 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Pete's Newsgroups" <***@iprimus.com.au> wrote in message
news:***@news.iprimus.com.au...
> I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/

this is where I stopped reading.

Renay




or the way we
> see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
> forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
> on your own feelings.
>
> There are basics that we follow for sure but to make a poem truely ours we
> have to have a unique segnature if you will which sets us apart from
> everyone else. If we all followed the same guidelines to the tee don't
you
> think we'd all be writing pretty much similar to each other.
>
> Take the time to think before you write your reply emails to people
because
> i feel we don't all have to agree on how one person writes his/her work.
> There are many people out there who will like keats for instance yet
others
> will hate keats thinging he's a complete nut job, while liking banjo
> patterson instead.
>
> I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
> from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
> because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to
our
> becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
> doesn't get off the ground.
>
> Kerri
>
>
Tom Bishop
2004-07-20 12:51:58 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Renay St. James" <***@prettyprettyprincess.com> wrote in message news:_88Lc.141852$***@attbi_s52...
>
> "Pete's Newsgroups" <***@iprimus.com.au> wrote in message
> news:***@news.iprimus.com.au...
> > I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/
>
> this is where I stopped reading.


Because you have no sole.

You are all heel.





>
> Renay
>
>
>
>
> or the way we
> > see the lifes attributes, that's what makes it our own work. Have you all
> > forgotten, how each of you became to write, if I'm not mistaken it's based
> > on your own feelings.
> >
> > There are basics that we follow for sure but to make a poem truely ours we
> > have to have a unique segnature if you will which sets us apart from
> > everyone else. If we all followed the same guidelines to the tee don't
> you
> > think we'd all be writing pretty much similar to each other.
> >
> > Take the time to think before you write your reply emails to people
> because
> > i feel we don't all have to agree on how one person writes his/her work.
> > There are many people out there who will like keats for instance yet
> others
> > will hate keats thinging he's a complete nut job, while liking banjo
> > patterson instead.
> >
> > I suggest we follow what we feel is right for ourselves, take the critism
> > from fellow poets as their choice but don't disregard what's being said
> > because vital information could be missed which could be the catalist to
> our
> > becoming a professional paid writer or a semi professional writer who
> > doesn't get off the ground.
> >
> > Kerri
> >
> >
>
>
Renay St. James
2004-07-20 13:42:50 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Tom Bishop" <***@sbc-elidethis-global.net> wrote in message
news:40fd12ff$0$59407$***@news.usenetguide.com...
>
> "Renay St. James" <***@prettyprettyprincess.com> wrote in message
news:_88Lc.141852$***@attbi_s52...
> >
> > "Pete's Newsgroups" <***@iprimus.com.au> wrote in message
> > news:***@news.iprimus.com.au...
> > > I feel we're forgetting poetry is an expression of our souls/
> >
> > this is where I stopped reading.
>
>
> Because you have no sole.
>
> You are all heel.

beg someone else for attention today, impotent Loser.

Renay
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 16:38:19 UTC
Reply
Permalink
> I write and post poetry. You
> do not.

yabut, those aren't poems.

repeating the same tired lines over and over will not make it so, kid.
Renay

**** Exactly, Renay. Repeating the same tired line "those aren't
poems" don't make it so, either. You might not find them "suck up
worthy", but they're poems.

> > There's also the fact that most people here are word people and we get
> > hot under the colour when we see what we love being abused. Not
> > surprisingly we fight back with words.
>
> Value added savior kook.
>
> All you do is flame chuckie and dockery and turn the place into
> a ratfuck mess like your asterisks.
>
>
> >
> > It's often best to lurk around for a while and see who makes sense,
> > who posts poetry, who gives and who takes critique.
>
> I did.
>
> No one makes enough cents to buy a donut hole.
>
> You are a vacuous kook who occasionally produces a reasonable
> poem but otherwise prances around like a puckered butthole.
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 17:19:20 UTC
Reply
Permalink
>Rob Evans wrote:
>
>> Oh-oh! I don't think mis-attribution will get you out of this one,
>> Will. Blue had a list of killer-questions. You don't convincingly
kick
>> ass while carefully side-stepping.
>
>This is rich. First off: you don't write much poetry, Rob,

Incorrect.

**** All right.

>or do you
>write, but just rarely post it here?

Correct.

**** That's okay.

> The only way to *really* kick ass
>here is to put some poems up.

Incorrect. The only way to kick ass is to perform it to non-hippy
audiences who've paid and expect to get something in return.

**** I say there are many ways to kick an ass. What you describe
sounds like prostitution... I'm just a happy go lucky slut... I'll
give it away, although a beer, joint or some pussy is legal *tender*
in Shadowville.

> The flame games are the real "careful
>side-stepping".

I think you side-step often and the flame games help you in this
respect.

**** I also sidestep oncoming traffic and trains... and, possible,
fists and bullets. You want i should stand there and take it like a
*man*?

You've endlessly posted Left Handed Summer which jr often calls
shit. You then argue a few rounds and eventually you re-post.

It isn't shit but it isn't a good poem either.

**** I like the Hell out of it--- and I've met others that seem to
agree, when I read it. But they're just drunken uneducated trash,
right. No, as Charlton Heston once scream: "It's peeeeeeee-puuuul..."

Some time back it got a
reasonably sympathetic crit from someone (forget who) who asked a lot
of
questions about the bits that didn't make sense. I don't recall you
giving any answers (possibly because you didn't have any).

**** Long thread, but if I missed answering a question on the poem,
I'll go back through and see if I can, when I have an hour or two to
spare. Not today... I have to work. Nope, not much money in poetry for
Will Dockery--- that makes ya'll beam with joy, eh? I don't have to
*deliver pizza* today, at least. Get this: I'll be walking around the
local military base until around midnight, passing Pizza Roma flyers
out, doing door-to-door, and placing them at the various CQ desks of
the Airborne, Infantry, Ranger and Calvary barracks. the pay's decent
[in my opinion] and the kids out there are great... I spend most of
the time laughing and joking with them. And they wind up ordering
pizza... lots of it. How this relates to my poetry, and the
performance of it, is that I respect my audience, they're human
beings. And I know how to connect.

**** That's an example of what I mean when I write that what I do, I'm
the best at... which is being Will Dockery.

http://www.net-kooks.org/photo1.htm

=====
Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
http://www.lulu.com/dockery


Ergo, not
necessarily shit but definitely flawed.

**** Yeah, I know it has flaws, I hope to avoid those in future poems.
I don't really like making the same mistake twice... i prefer making
*new* mistakes.

>Wrong, Rob. Never heard of "Float like a butterfly, sting like a
bee?"

Yes - it's a cliche and will thus undoubtedly appear in one of your
future poems as a link between two indecipherable bits.

**** I don't steal lines if I can help it.

>The Rope-A-Dope? Kicking ass while side stepping.
>
>But your perception of Blue Blow "kicking my ass" is just that: your
>perception.

That is true but I would argue that a perception affected by detailed
argument has more value than one that responds to mere rhetoric.
>
>Hey, Blue asked me how much money I made as a poet. Not much. Not the
>first poet in this position. Billy Collins makes plenty of money with
>poetry--- that makes him the best, eh?

That... and the several published collections... and the
laureateship...
and the sell-out readings to audiences

**** Yep!

who do not rely on
substance-abuse to heighten their perceptions.

**** Haven't made it though much Billy Collins, actually. Reminds me
of rod McKuen, from what I've read, and from what I've heard read by a
stuffy lady at local poetry readings last year... she probably made
him seem even worse.

>Blue came off crass with this angle. Of course you and your fuckwit
>troll buddies want to see this as a victory for you against the
>Dockery. All the jeering and insults you and the others can dredge up
>will not drive me away, much less "kick my ass".

a) they are not my buddies.

**** Yikes--- sorry! Glad to know this, though.

b) they mostly appear perfectly rational (if a little harsh, at times)
c) I personally don't care who has a victory over who but you clearly
(as you say - in my perception)

**** Yes.

got your asked by Blue this time.

**** I don't agree, obviously. The "ass kikin'" Blow supposedly did on
me has no importance to what I have, and continue to work with, as a
poet. The $$$ thing has *never* been that much of an interest for
me... in poetry or in other aspects of my life. This lack of concern
for the almighty dollar has hurt me in several ways over the years, in
ways that I'm not really up to going into. This is not a "my dick's
bigger than yours thing" as Blow makes it... and, so far as I know, he
could be doing the same thing that you mention a couple other guys
here have done: inveting a succesful past as a poet.

**** Or maybe Blue has links to prove his great status as a poet
breadwinner. If so, perhaps he or someone else will post some links.
Otherwise, it could well be just more usenet blather.

d) Even if such a thing were possible, I would have no desire to drive
you away.
e) I'm pretty sure that you have never been jeered at by me.
>
>Yeah, I'm a lower class, self taught street poet. Proud of this fact,
>obviously. The rules of your elite do not apply.

Please! Class has fuck all to do with any crit of your poetry.

**** Again, not in *your* case... sorry to lump you in with the other
assholes, as I already wrote below [I'm responding to this post from
the bottom up].

As for
being self-taught, well the quality of that education depends on the
teacher and the tools used, doesn't it? I don't have an elite (another
easy side-step) and some things do apply to poetry - they are more
than
rules, they are the basic building blocks:

a) avoid cliches if you want something truly fresh
b) avoid repetition - poetry is a condensed art form so don't waste
space
c) avoid obscure local references unless you're going to provide
footnotes

**** Good points, and I'll try to keep 'em in mind with the new poems.

If you don't use these basic guidelines, you're not communicating,
you're keeping a diary.

> There will be poems
>from me today, tommorow, and, in fact until the day I die! I'm here
>virtually forever, get it?

Get this - I don't care.

**** Got it.

This is not about driving you away. Not
valuing your poetry is nothing personal.

**** In your case, at least. Some bozo started a thread "proposing" to
have me banned, from an unmoderated newsgroup! Don't you see that as
just a bit vile, at the very least?

>Anyway, I just woke up, I'm still bleary eyed and I need my coffee...
>a big cup sitting here as I type... I'll have a sip and wait for the
>next rounds of insults about pizza boys and how many government
grants
>I *haven't* won, and how my beard and afro are unbecoming... et
>cetera... while the vast majority of you writing all these shallow
>posts *still* will not post poetry, and another day goes on.

And I don't remember ever commenting on your job.

**** That's probably true. Sorry for lumping you with the other
assholes.

In the context of
this place it has nothing to do with anything. Unlike Jethro or Tommy
you don't pretend to be doing/have done something wildy important and
hugely well paid. They only get stick because they use fantasies about
their work to support their arguments here.
>
>I'll post some poems.
>
>But I won't suck up to any of you.
>
It has never been a requirement.

**** Good.

Rob
--
Rob Evans

> > There's also the fact that most people here are word people and we get
> > hot under the colour when we see what we love being abused. Not
> > surprisingly we fight back with words.
>
> Value added savior kook.
>
> All you do is flame chuckie and dockery and turn the place into
> a ratfuck mess like your asterisks.
>
>
> >
> > It's often best to lurk around for a while and see who makes sense,
> > who posts poetry, who gives and who takes critique.
>
> I did.
>
> No one makes enough cents to buy a donut hole.
>
> You are a vacuous kook who occasionally produces a reasonable
> poem but otherwise prances around like a puckered butthole.
Peter J Ross
2004-06-14 03:09:03 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 11 Jun 2004 17:49:32 -0700, twistyleg wrote:

> Does anyone ever have anything constructive to say here

You evidently don't.
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Will Dockery
2004-06-12 01:04:48 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: ggamble <***@excite.com>

This is what we used to call a
*good, old-fashioned country ass kickin'*

Nice

**** Thanks. But I really didn't want to hurt the little bastard. It's
just so much fun bashing the shit out of trolls.
Will

> =====
> Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
> http://www.lulu.com/dockery
>
> > [A good article from the archives]:
> >
> > On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> > whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> > status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> > ago this month.
> >
> > The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> > visit him: ``Don't try.''
> >
> > Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> > challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> > try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> > poetic intemperance.
> >
> > In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> > (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> > Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> > fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
> >
> > Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> > copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> > Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> > sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> > year for the next five years.
> >
> > Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> > adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> > truth.
> >
> > He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> > most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> > legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> > so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
> >
> > He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> > him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> > movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> > his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
> >
> > An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> > So does an Irish rock star.
> >
> > To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> > San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> > offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> > disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
> >
> > To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> > her heart.
> >
> > There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
> >
> > The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> > nine says this:
> >
> > ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> > first, he is the great man.
> >
> > ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> > in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> > gone.''
> >
> > There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> > to a friend:
> >
> > ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> > something worse.''
> >
> > And those who loved him became disciples.
> >
> > Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> > bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> > Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> > son.''
> >
> > He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> > younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> > him with a razor strap.
> >
> > At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
> >
> > To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> > University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> > decades) wrote:
> >
> > ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> > opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> > step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> > in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> > who live 10 lives.''
> >
> > That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> > ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> > novels, recordings and even paintings.
> >
> > But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> > impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> > effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> > sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
> >
> > In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> > single-minded Bukowski reader:
> >
> > those who would write like bukowski
> >
> > know that he, as a young man, loved
> >
> > classical music, wrote every day,
> >
> > read world literature, supported himself
> >
> > without parental or government assistance,
> >
> > and drank a lot.
> >
> > but when it comes to modeling themselves
> >
> > on him as writers
> >
> > they tend to forget everything
> >
> > except the drinking.
> >
> > In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> > and capricious punishment by his father.
> >
> > A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> > father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> > Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> > childish indiscretions.
> >
> > The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> > his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> > contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> > later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> > mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
> >
> > His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> > maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
> >
> > But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> > liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
> >
> > His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> > but millions found meaningful.
> >
> > ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> > Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> > to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
> >
> > Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> > life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> > employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
> >
> > Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> > in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
> >
> > In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> > artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> > pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> > Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> > cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
> >
> > We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> > routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> > the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
> >
> > He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> > manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> > editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
> >
> > Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
> >
> > And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> > older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> > woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> > presence
> > everywhere:
> >
> > ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> > that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> > sandpaper exterior would suggest.
> >
> > One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> > suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
> >
> > ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
> >
> > ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> > it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> > at the Glide
> > 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
> >
> > ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> > humans.''
> >
> > He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
> >
> > Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> > ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> > whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> > obscure poverty.
> >
> > During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> > bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
> >
> > ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
> >
> > Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
> >
> > And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> > escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
> >
> > ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> > Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> > have to be love, death, war.''
> >
> > It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> > painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> > influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> > different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
> >
> > Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> > used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> > himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> > in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> > like me.'''
> >
> > Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> > visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> > Bukowski.
> >
> > ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> > right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> > a rosy picture of his own gender.''
> >
> > Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> > at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> > Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> > totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> > is where the best poetry comes from.''
> >
> > To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> > wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> > love ...''
> >
> > He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
> >
> > ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> > his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> > in Santa Rosa.
> >
> > ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> > a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> > who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
> >
> > Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> > next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> > previously unpublished work.
> >
> > ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> > Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> > who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
> >
> > `Don't try.''
> >
> > Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> > refers to as another room of the house.
> >
> > ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> > is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
> >
> > He tried. He did.
> >
> > And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
> >
> > We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> > comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> > leave
> > him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
> >
> > ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> > Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> > writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
> >
> > (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
> >
> > ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> > comes close.
Rob Evans
2004-06-12 10:08:36 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In message <***@posting.google.com>, Will
Dockery <***@yahoo.com> writes
>From: ggamble <***@excite.com>
>
>This is what we used to call a
>*good, old-fashioned country ass kickin'*
>
>Nice
>
>**** Thanks. But I really didn't want to hurt the little bastard. It's
>just so much fun bashing the shit out of trolls.
>Will
>
Oh-oh! I don't think mis-attribution will get you out of this one,
Will. Blue had a list of killer-questions. You don't convincingly kick
ass while carefully side-stepping.

Rob
--
Rob Evans
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 19:54:17 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: Joy Yourcenar <***@net-kooks.org>

***>... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century.
Nobody but nobody
***>comes close.

<usual jeering bullshit snipped>

also proud to be delivering pizza
at age 50+,
***would make such a statement.

**** Once again, no, I have no problem with delivering pizza.

***why do you insist on constantly embarrassing yourself?

**** I'd be more embarrased by your displays of elitist mockery of
honest working people. I don't know what you, JRS, Joy, or even the
simpering Colin do to make some cash, and don't care. I know that I
rarely [or in the case of JRS, *never*] see any poetry posted here by
youse guys. Yet you relentlessly embarrass yourself with trollery and
shallow judgements. Not fit to shine Charles Bukowski's shoes! *grin*

Needs a hobby?
Joy

**** I could use a blowjob, but you've killfiled me, right? *sigh*

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~

> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.
Colin Ward
2004-06-11 22:20:23 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On 11 Jun 2004 12:54:17 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will Dockery)
wrote:

>**** I'd be more embarrased by your displays of elitist mockery of
>honest working people. I don't know what you, JRS, Joy, or even the
>simpering Colin do to make some cash, and don't care.

Actually, I've never alluded to your job but, of course, you'd
have to be literate to know that, Will. But, hey, who cares? I MADE
IT ONTO A LIST! And warranted a descriptor, too! Life is good.

>> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
>> comes close.

If Pukowski were an only child and an orphan he still wouldn't
be the best poet in his family.

Best regards,

Colin

J'ai bien reçu
J'ai bien vécu

- Cano
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-12 01:09:49 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 22:20:23 GMT, Colin Ward <***@mts.net> wrote:

***On 11 Jun 2004 12:54:17 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will
Dockery)
***wrote:
***
***>**** I'd be more embarrased by your displays of elitist mockery of
***>honest working people. I don't know what you, JRS, Joy, or even
the
***>simpering Colin do to make some cash, and don't care.


I'll give you a hint. It involves words, a computer, a dictionary and
getting paid to write.


***
*** Actually, I've never alluded to your job but, of course, you'd
***have to be literate to know that, Will. But, hey, who cares? I
MADE
***IT ONTO A LIST! And warranted a descriptor, too! Life is good.


*high five*


***
***>> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century.
Nobody but nobody
***>> comes close.
***
*** If Pukowski were an only child and an orphan he still wouldn't
***be the best poet in his family.
***
***Best regards,
***
***Colin
***
***J'ai bien reçu
***J'ai bien vécu
***
*** - Cano


If it were Spanish, I'd be thinking of Carmen. Which makes me think of
how much I miss her, Jerry Jenkins and Lorena. The Cabal just isn't
the same without Lorena.

Joy


Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Bindi
2004-06-12 10:03:55 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In message <news:***@4ax.com>
"Joy Yourcenar" <***@net-kooks.org> waltzed in
and whispered...

> On Fri, 11 Jun 2004 22:20:23 GMT, Colin Ward <***@mts.net>
wrote:
>
> ***On 11 Jun 2004 12:54:17 -0700, ***@yahoo.com (Will
> Dockery)
> ***wrote:
> ***
> ***>**** I'd be more embarrased by your displays of elitist mockery
of
> ***>honest working people. I don't know what you, JRS, Joy, or even
> the
> ***>simpering Colin do to make some cash, and don't care.
>
>
> I'll give you a hint. It involves words, a computer, a dictionary
and
> getting paid to write.
>
>
> ***
> *** Actually, I've never alluded to your job but, of course,
you'd
> ***have to be literate to know that, Will. But, hey, who cares? I
> MADE
> ***IT ONTO A LIST! And warranted a descriptor, too! Life is good.
>
>
> *high five*
>
>
> ***
> ***>> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century.
> Nobody but nobody
> ***>> comes close.
> ***
> *** If Pukowski were an only child and an orphan he still
wouldn't
> ***be the best poet in his family.
> ***
> ***Best regards,
> ***
> ***Colin
> ***
> ***J'ai bien reçu
> ***J'ai bien vécu
> ***
> *** - Cano
>
>
> If it were Spanish, I'd be thinking of Carmen. Which makes me think
of
> how much I miss her, Jerry Jenkins and Lorena. The Cabal just isn't
> the same without Lorena.
>
> Joy

psst!
Lorinda?
I miss her parrot nose.

I miss the top dog, Sometimes.

>
>
> Joy Yourcenar
> Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
> icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon
>
> "I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
> so leave an extra pint."
> ~Billy Bragg~

--
--
Bindi

www.slingshot.to/Bindi

I have a trebuche!
And a pumpkin
with your name on it.
Peter J Ross
2004-06-14 03:47:38 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Sat, 12 Jun 2004 01:09:49 GMT, Joy Yourcenar wrote:

> If it were Spanish, I'd be thinking of Carmen. Which makes me think of
> how much I miss her, Jerry Jenkins and Lorena. The Cabal just isn't
> the same without Lorena.

L-O-R-I-N-D-A.

Bruce Tindall has to be added to the MIA list too, and what the hell
happened to the Big Fat Guy?
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Joy Yourcenar
2004-06-14 11:58:25 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 03:47:38 GMT, Peter J Ross <***@NOSPAMmeow.org>
wrote:

***On Sat, 12 Jun 2004 01:09:49 GMT, Joy Yourcenar wrote:
***
***> If it were Spanish, I'd be thinking of Carmen. Which makes me
think of
***> how much I miss her, Jerry Jenkins and Lorena. The Cabal just
isn't
***> the same without Lorena.
***
***L-O-R-I-N-D-A.


It's a pet name. :P Sort of like "American weasel" or "most famous of
Azoreans".

***
***Bruce Tindall has to be added to the MIA list too, and what the
hell
***happened to the Big Fat Guy?

I have him on my icq and email but I haven't heard from him in awhile.
I like to think that he's watching us from on high and will drop in
again. Can't you just hear him talking to TomTom and Mockery?


I knew you could.

Joy



Joy Yourcenar
Mythologies www.evolvingbeauty.com/myth
icon/graphy www.evolvingbeauty.com/icon

"I am the Milk Man of Human Kindness
so leave an extra pint."
~Billy Bragg~
Peter J Ross
2004-06-16 06:08:20 UTC
Reply
Permalink
On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 11:58:25 GMT, Joy Yourcenar wrote:

> On Mon, 14 Jun 2004 03:47:38 GMT, Peter J Ross <***@NOSPAMmeow.org>
> wrote:
> *** and what the hell happened to the Big Fat Guy?
>
> I have him on my icq and email but I haven't heard from him in awhile.
> I like to think that he's watching us from on high and will drop in
> again. Can't you just hear him talking to TomTom and Mockery?
>
> I knew you could.

That's exactly why I miss him. Whether he returns or not, he'll always
be remembered as the inventor of the word "candacely", which has
proved so useful to subsequent critiquers.
--
PJR :-)

(Remove NOSPAM to reply.)
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 20:12:26 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:

> i know that Dale, but what if someone said to you: "i think blacks are exactly
> like apes swinging in the trees, and the reason you don't see that many black
> people hiking in the mountains is because black people don't want to be reminded
> of how they used to swing through trees!"

Hmmm. Sounds a bit racist, JRS.

> "yeah, Bukowski could be the greatest poet of the 20th century! i think i'll
> tell others this same thing!"
>
> and before you know it we might have hundreds or maybe thousands of people
> saying this exact same thing.
>
>do something to prevent the spread of
> epic stupidity? of course we should. and that is what i'm trying to do. prevent
> the spread of epic stupidity.

The very reason I answer you, JRS: many people might believe the
stupidity you relentelessly spew on these newsgroups. But, they'll
also notice that's *all* you do... it seems doubtful they'll ever see
a poem by you here. Right?

> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> Zombie last night."
> Roky Erikson

> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.
j r sherman
2004-06-11 20:47:35 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
says...
>
>j r sherman wrote:
>
>>i know that Dale, but what if someone said to you: "i think blacks are exactly
>> like apes swinging in the trees, and the reason you don't see that many black
>>people hiking in the mountains is because black people don't want to be reminded
>> of how they used to swing through trees!"
>
>Hmmm. Sounds a bit racist, JRS.

your grasp of the obvious astounds us all.


>> "yeah, Bukowski could be the greatest poet of the 20th century! i think i'll
>> tell others this same thing!"
>>
>> and before you know it we might have hundreds or maybe thousands of people
>> saying this exact same thing.
>>
>>do something to prevent the spread of
>>epic stupidity? of course we should. and that is what i'm trying to do. prevent
>> the spread of epic stupidity.
>
>The very reason I answer you, JRS: many people might believe the
>stupidity you relentelessly spew on these newsgroups.

hey, Moronico, you do not catch ME promoting the idiotic idea that Bukowski is
the best poet of the 20th century. even his best fans wouldn't say that about
his him. even Bukowksi wouldn't.

ergo, you're a imbecile, and this is a fact that needs-nay-demands to be pointed
out, as often as possible.

>But, they'll
>also notice that's *all* you do... it seems doubtful they'll ever see
>a poem by you here. Right?

i post more poetry in this newsgroup than you do.

actually, people who have never posted a poem here post more poems here than you
do.

actually, people who are DEAD and have never posted a poem here post more poems
than you do.

and this is a fact that needs-nay-demands to be pointed out, as often as
possible.

so, as long as you are stupid, and as long as you keep PROVING you are stupid, i
will continue to point this fact out to you.

it's something we smart people NEED to do.

love and kisses, moron,

j r sherman

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
Will Dockery
2004-06-11 21:13:32 UTC
Reply
Permalink
From: j r sherman <***@earthlink.net>

you do not catch ME promoting the idiotic idea that Bukowski is
the best poet of the 20th century.

**** Promote what you like, JRS. You *know* by now that I'll continue
to do what *I* like: post my poetry, and damn the jeering philistines
like yourself.

>But, they'll
>also notice that's *all* you do... it seems doubtful they'll ever see
>a poem by you here. Right?

i post more poetry in this newsgroup than you do.

**** Same old song and dance from the JRSherman. Just when *was* the
last time you posted a poem here? Had to've been at least a year or
two. I posted one about a half hour ago. Repeating the same tired lie
over and over will not make it so, kid. I write and post poetry. You
do not.

it's something we smart people NEED to do.

**** Indeed, answering trolls like you is what *we* need to do. You'll
be gone again soon enough, though, either way.
> [A good article from the archives]:
>
> On a San Pedro, Calif. hillside opposite the Pacific, dirt covers the man
> whose once-expressive appetite for life continues to sustain his cult hero
> status beyond this grave where movie stars and drinkers laid him three years
> ago this month.
>
> The simple headstone of Henry Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994, tells those who
> visit him: ``Don't try.''
>
> Good advice rarely followed, that ambiguous message from his grave is a
> challenge outlasting the man whose life and art compels thousands to try,
> try, try to understand, analyze and even emulate the illegitimate father of
> poetic intemperance.
>
> In more than 60 books of poetry, short stories, novels and a screenplay
> (``Barfly'') about a brief but remarkable period of his life, Charles`Hank''
> Bukowski wrote from the twisted guts of his own incredible life,
> fashioning those experiences into provocative shapes for our amusement.
>
> Since his death, Bukowski has become something of a worldwide industry, with
> copies of his work multiplying in value, new fans finding him on dozens of
> Bukowski-related Internet sites and old ones sporting Team Bukowski
> sweatshirts. His publishers plan at least one book of unpublished work a
> year for the next five years.
>
> Bukowski gave the finger to poetry as effete intellectualism and replaced
> adorned sentiment with naked, disturbing, compelling, repulsive, vicious
> truth.
>
> He was a drunk and a genius, and he beat life to hell and lived longer than
> most expected and better than most knew. These years after his death, the
> legend grows, sustained by a body of work
> so deep that books of poetry are planned through 2001.
>
> He was a Southern California god, but even before this country acknowledged
> him, Europeans were already treating Bukowski with the pop iconoclasm of
> movie stars. Now, his work is translated into at least 21 languages, with
> his newest fans building a Bukowski movement in Japan.
>
> An Orange County, Calif., college professor claims Bukowski as an influence.
> So does an Irish rock star.
>
> To his fans, the mythic man who settled with a view of the grimy harbor of
> San Pedro is an adorable bastard, a voice that rumbled from a blue collar to
> offend, challenge, stimulate the complacent, and to console the
> disenfranchised for whom labor was survival.
>
> To Linda Lee Bukowski, he is the man whose passing left a bottomless hole in
> her heart.
>
> There are women who dismiss Bukowski as chauvinistic, as misogynistic.
>
> The woman who loved him for many years and was married to him for the last
> nine says this:
>
> ``To you,'' Linda Lee Bukowski says, ``he is the great writer. But to me,
> first, he is the great man.
>
> ``I cry every day and night. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Right down
> in the human gut level, it's terrible. I miss him like, boy, half of me is
> gone.''
>
> There is little middle ground with Charles Bukowski.
>
> Critics dismissed his writing as abusive and indulgent, about which he wrote
> to a friend:
>
> ``We don't write to be judged, we write to get it out of us so we don't do
> something worse.''
>
> And those who loved him became disciples.
>
> Bono of U2 dedicated a Los Angeles show to Hank and Linda and sent a limo to
> bring them to the concert, along with other devotees, actors Harry Dean
> Stanton and Sean Penn, whom the Bukowskis referred to as their ``surrogate
> son.''
>
> He was gentle to animals, mean to those who crossed him, encouraging to
> younger talents and never too far from an immigrant child whose father beat
> him with a razor strap.
>
> At 13 Bukowski discovered alcohol; he said it saved his life.
>
> To his friend Gerald Locklin, a writer and professor at California State
> University, Long Beach, Bukowski (in one of a volume of letters over two
> decades) wrote:
>
> ``I don't trust men who don't drink. There is something about drinking which
> opens a man to extraordinary disaster: you meet all the wrong women and you
> step out into alleys to duke it with all the wrong men. It's kind of a lesson
> in stupidity but you learn more in that kind of life than most men
> who live 10 lives.''
>
> That life, glorified by the Mickey Rourke-Faye Dunaway characters of
> ``Barfly,'' is as much a part of the Bukowski legacy as are his poems,
> novels, recordings and even paintings.
>
> But those who focus on his love of drink, his tolerance for abuse, and his
> impulse toward denigration of the cognoscenti _ without considering the
> effect of these things on his sizable contribution to literature _ miss,
> sadly, a greater part of Charles Bukowski.
>
> In one of his several books of poetry, Locklin writes a poem to address the
> single-minded Bukowski reader:
>
> those who would write like bukowski
>
> know that he, as a young man, loved
>
> classical music, wrote every day,
>
> read world literature, supported himself
>
> without parental or government assistance,
>
> and drank a lot.
>
> but when it comes to modeling themselves
>
> on him as writers
>
> they tend to forget everything
>
> except the drinking.
>
> In his novel ``Ham on Rye'' Bukowski chronicles a childhood full of severe
> and capricious punishment by his father.
>
> A central element of the Bukowski house in an L.A. neighborhood was his
> father's razor strap, which hung above the bathroom sink area where young
> Charles Bukowski would be forced to disrobe and be lashed, often for minor
> childish indiscretions.
>
> The stress of his life caused a nervous reaction that resulted in boils over
> his body, leaving his skin pockmarked for life. His rough appearance
> contributed to his aloofness from other kids, which in
> later years would become a general distaste for people whose allegiance to
> mainstream existence Bukowski saw as a betrayal of the soul.
>
> His legend as a barroom fighter, as a drinker, a womanizer and a proud
> maverick who rejected self-restraint was well earned.
>
> But even when he was flopping in dirtbag hotels and working day labor for
> liquor, Bukowski was no bum.
>
> His life was a notebook in which he documented experiences few could survive
> but millions found meaningful.
>
> ``People like to ask me, `Did that really happen to you?''' he wrote to
> Locklin. ``And I used to tell them. Now, I don't. I think it's good for them
> to wonder. OK. Then most did and what didn't should have.''
>
> Although he drew on experiences beginning with the earliest moments of his
> life, Bukowski, who at times had been a shipping clerk and a postal
> employee, was middle-aged before he was ``discovered.''
>
> Some of Bukowski's earliest published work was for Open City and LA Weekly
> in the late '60s, which later became his book, ``Notes of a Dirty Old Man.''
>
> In the comfortable home where Linda Lee Bukowski's life is a vigil to her
> artist husband, the walls, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the swimming
> pool, the spa, the photo albums and the numerous sketches from the Great
> Man's hand, tell a fuller story than most are privileged to know. He loved
> cats and would sit for hours enticing a stray.
>
> We know from his work, of course, that horseracing was part of his daily
> routine. But who would have known that he enjoyed relaxing, alcohol-free, in
> the whirlpool upon returning from Hollywood Park or Santa Anita?
>
> He is easily pictured, almost boxer-like, pounding the keys of an Underwood
> manual ``typer.'' But his work tripled, say both Linda and his Black Sparrow
> editor, John Martin, when he got a computer.
>
> Near the end of his life, he meditated: twice a day, 20 minutes at a time.
>
> And for all his reputation as a devotee of cheap liquor and easy women, the
> older Bukowski enjoyed good wine and imported beer, and was loyal to the
> woman he loved. There are, in the Bukowski household, relics to mark his
> presence
> everywhere:
>
> ``Linda will ya be my Valentine,'' says one of many child-like paintings
> that reveal a side of the man more capable of common feeling than his
> sandpaper exterior would suggest.
>
> One Bukowski painting _ a poem really _ reveals a man we might have
> suspected but rarely find exposed this way through his writing:
>
> ``Arrange for me this splendid insecurity.''
>
> ``I don't even want to go into that,'' Linda Bukowski says. ```It means what
> it means.'' Bukowski once wrote to his friend Locklin that he liked eating
> at the Glide
> 'er Inn in Seal Beach, where he was a frequent Sunday guest for crab legs.
>
> ``Those booths,'' he wrote, ``with high walls hide me away from the
> humans.''
>
> He was the most human, Hank Bukowksi was.
>
> Whatever misrepresentation ``Barfly'' might have left on the legacy of the
> ``poet laureate of Los Angeles,'' one scene perhaps speaks for all those
> whose devotion made Bukowski a wealthy man, after long years of writing in
> obscure poverty.
>
> During a scene in the Golden Horn bar, a crusty patron says to Jim the
> bartender, regarding the Bukowski character:
>
> ``I don't see what you see in the guy.''
>
> Says the bartender: ``He's as right as any of us.''
>
> And so he was. And so, too, are those who find comfort, acceptance and
> escape from lives of incredible normalcy in the writing of Bukowski.
>
> ``What he taught me is that you can make poetry out of your daily life,''
> Locklin says. ``You don't have to wait for the great moments; it doesn't
> have to be love, death, war.''
>
> It is a lesson learned by the professor, yes, but also by a contract
> painter-turned-poet whose life change was sparked partly by Bukowski's
> influence. Or by a merchant who recognizes her own life in the drastically
> different reference of an artist whose work transcended common experience.
>
> Raindog, a San Pedro housepainter, poet and literary magazine publisher who
> used to follow Bukowski around but was too reverential ever to introduce
> himself to the man, says now: ``I felt like Bukowski was pinning a narrative
> in the back of my head, like, `Ok, I'm not alone. There's someone out there
> like me.'''
>
> Andrea Kuwalski, proprietor of Vinegar Hill Books, where the poet used to
> visit to hang out with Chet, the store cat, now devotes a whole shelf to
> Bukowski.
>
> ``I can't take offense as a woman at any of what he said, because he's
> right; things do get goofy,'' she says. ``And I don't think he painted such
> a rosy picture of his own gender.''
>
> Rancho Santiago College professor and poet Lee Mallory, who used to show up
> at Bukowski's door with a 12-pack of beer and an appetite to learn, says
> Bukowski ``lived his work, and in the sense that he did, the body of work is
> totally authentic. You knew he was writing from a base of experience, which
> is where the best poetry comes from.''
>
> To Mallory, Bukowksi wrote: ``On mornings of doom, have a drink or two and
> wait. Wait on the word. She's more faithful than any woman. It's our final
> love ...''
>
> He was, probably, an alcoholic. He was, decidedly, a workaholic.
>
> ``He was a brilliant machine,'' his widow says. o one knows that better than
> his editor, John Martin at Black Sparrow Press
> in Santa Rosa.
>
> ``A couple or three times a week,'' Martin says, ``(Bukowski) would send me
> a batch of poems. And he did that for 30 years. He's one of the few writers
> who has made substantial money just off royalties.''
>
> Martin says he has enough Bukowski material for four or five more books and
> next month will publish ``Bone Palace Ballet'' a 370-page collection of
> previously unpublished work.
>
> ``His work will always be there and always have an avid readership,''
> Locklin says, ``in the same way of Henry Miller and e.e. cummings and poets
> who are read out of a sense of pleasure rather than a sense of duty.''
>
> `Don't try.''
>
> Linda Lee Bukowski laughs at her husband's epitaph, on the grave that she
> refers to as another room of the house.
>
> ``I think it means, if you spend all your time trying, then all you're doing
> is trying. So, the thing is to do. Don't try. Just do.''
>
> He tried. He did.
>
> And Henry Charles Bukowski left us richer for the effort.
>
> We read him like watching a daredevil, from the safety of complacent
> comfort. We revel in his lifestyle. But we dishonor his powerful voice if we
> leave
> him and his work at the bottom of a bottle.
>
> ``People are always pointing out things about me,'' Bukowski wrote to Gerald
> Locklin. ``I'm a drunk or I'm rich or I'm something else. How about the
> writing? Does it work or doesn't it?''
>
> (c) 1997, The Orange County Register (Santa Ana, Calif.).
>
> ... Charles Bukowski, the greatest poet of the 20th century. Nobody but nobody
> comes close.
j r sherman
2004-06-11 21:58:06 UTC
Reply
Permalink
In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
says...
>
>From: j r sherman <***@earthlink.net>
>
>you do not catch ME promoting the idiotic idea that Bukowski is
>the best poet of the 20th century.
>
>**** Promote what you like, JRS. You *know* by now that I'll continue
>to do what *I* like:

indeed. this is America. to constantly reaffirm that you are a moron is your
god-given right.

>post my poetry, and damn the jeering philistines
>like yourself.

but dockery, i am not a philistine! to imply that i am a philistine would also
be implying that what you post here is poetry, when clearly it is not.

ergo, i am no philistine, and you do not post poetry, loser.

>>But, they'll
>>also notice that's *all* you do... it seems doubtful they'll ever see
>>a poem by you here. Right?
>
>i post more poetry in this newsgroup than you do.

no you don't. i have yet to see one poem from you, ever.


>**** Same old song and dance from the JRSherman. Just when *was* the
>last time you posted a poem here?

about a month ago. and you've been posting here for at least two years, when
have you ever posted a poem here?

>Had to've been at least a year or
>two. I posted one about a half hour ago.

i am amused that you believe what you post in these newsgroups is poetry.

>Repeating the same tired lie
>over and over will not make it so, kid. I write and post poetry. You
>do not.

indeed i do. whereas who, besides your delusional self, thinks you write poetry?

or that you even KNOW anything ABOUT poetry?

no one.

even Peter Ross, Oxford educated and raised in a literate society, thinks i
write poetry. he says it's bad poetry, but it's poetry.

hence... the truth hurts for you dockery, and that's not my problem.

>
>it's something we smart people NEED to do.
>
>**** Indeed, answering trolls like you is what *we* need to do. You'll
>be gone again soon enough, though, either way.

heh... i am most amused. i will be here forever, dockery. for as long as i live
and beyond that time. i have contracted with others that even after i die,
people will come to this place, in my name, and continue to remind you that what
you post in these newsgroup is NOT poetry, but embarrassing and unspeakable
shit.

and this shall happen forever. because after those people have gone to the great
beyond, others will take their place, to remind you, and anyone like you, that
you do not produce poetry... you produce shit, period.

i wish you would realize this. i am confident that you never will.

love and kisses,

------------------------------------------------------------------
"I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
Zombie last night."
Roky Erikson
------------------------------------------------------------------
Dennis M. Hammes
2004-06-11 23:11:54 UTC
Reply
Permalink
j r sherman wrote:
>
> In article <***@posting.google.com>, Will Dockery
> says...

...
>
> and this shall happen forever. because after those people have gone to the great
> beyond, others will take their place, to remind you, and anyone like you, that
> you do not produce poetry... you produce shit, period.

His shit has stopping points?
I wasn't aware that his shit had stopping points.
PPOR.
>
> i wish you would realize this. i am confident that you never will.
>
> love and kisses,
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> "I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a Zombie, I walked with a
> Zombie last night."
> Roky Erikson
> ------------------------------------------------------------------


--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
The most essential gift for a good writer is
a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. -- Hemingway
http://scrawlmark.org
Renay St. James
2004-06-12 16:22:27 UTC
Reply
Permalink
"Will Dockery" <***@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:***@posting.google.com...
> From: j r sherman <***@earthlink.net>
>
> you do not catch ME promoting the idiotic idea that Bukowski is
> the best poet of the 20th century.
>
> **** Promote what you like, JRS. You *know* by now that I'll continue
> to do what *I* like: post my poetry, and damn the jeering philistines
> like yourself.
>
> >But, they'll
> >also notice that's *all* you do... it seems doubtful they'll ever see
> >a poem by you here. Right?
>
> i post more poetry in this newsgroup than you do.
>
> **** Same old song and dance from the JRSherman. Just when *was* the
> last time you posted a poem here? Had to've been at least a year or
> two. I posted one about a half hour ago. Repeating the same tired lie
> over and over will not make it so, kid. I write and post poetry. You
> do not.

yabut, those aren't poems.

repeating the same tired lines over and over will not make it so, kid.

Renay
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