A cruel shiny bastard with bad breath. (1 Viewer)

hank solo

Just practicin' steps and keepin' outta the fights
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So the 4th December 2008 is the 50th anniversary of the day that Bukowski's father died. I have no special comment, but thought it was worth mentioning.

the twins


he hinted at times that I was a bastard and I told him to listen
to Brahms, and I told him to learn to paint and drink and not be
dominated by women and dollars
but he screamed at me, For Christ's Sake remember your mother,
remember your country,
you'll kill us all! ...


I move through my father's house (on which he owed $8,000 after 20
years on the same job) and look at his dead shoes
the way his feet curled the leather, as if he was angrily planting roses,
and he was, and I look at his dead cigarette, his last cigarette
and the last bed he slept in that night, and I feel I should remake it
but I can't, for a father is always your master even when he's gone;
I guess these things have happened time and again but I can't help
thinking

to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning
while other people are frying eggs
is not so rough
unless it happens to you.​


I go outside and pick an orange and peel back the bright skin;
things are still living: the grass is growing quite well,
the sun sends down its rays circled by a Russian satellite,
a dog barks senselessly somewhere, the neighbors peek behind blinds.
I am a stranger here, and have been (I suppose) somewhat the rogue,
and I have no doubt he painted me quite well (the old boy and I
fought like mountain lions) and they say he left it all to some woman
in Duarte but I don't give a damn---she can have it: he was my old
man

and he died.​


inside, I try on a light blue suit
much better than anything I have ever worn
and I flap the arms like a scarecrow in the wind
but it's no good:

I can't keep him alive
no matter how much we hated each other.


we looked exactly alike, we could have been twins
the old man and I: that's what they
said. he had his bulbs on the screen
ready for planting
while I was lying with a whore from 3rd street.


very well. grant us this moment: standing before a mirror
in my dead father's suit
waiting also
to die.
 
for a father is always your master even when he's gone

gawd. tell me about it.


i like this post you've made, hank solo. it's thought provoking and i don't remember reading this poem before.

it makes me wonder if he really did look like his dad.

are there any pictures of his dad?
 
to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning
while other people are frying eggs
is not so rough
unless it happens to you.


I remember reading those words a few years back, and suddenly feeling very old. Such was (and remains) the impact of Buk's words.

Thanks for posting, Hank. Yes indeed.
 
very good poem. excellent. makes me sad. thanks for the reminder, hank solo...

"i flap the arms like a scarecrow in the wind"
 
yo! thanks for the reminder babe!


"You are a bum," he told me, "and you'll
always be a bum!"

and I thought, if being a bum is to be the
opposite of what this son-of-a-bitch
is, then that's what I'm going to
be.

and it's too bad he's been dead
so long
for now he can't see
how beautifully I've succeeded
at
that.


(from: 'my non-ambitious ambition' in: 'You get so alone')
 
Having never met the man, & having only Buk's side of things, I will say that maybe some good came from it. I remember hearing Buk say that he learned how to really say what he meant thanks to all the beatings...& saying what he wanted to say is what made him a terrific poet...so there's an upside to the brutality...at least in this particular case.
 
You know, not that it has anything to do with it, my Grandmother died on Dec 4th, and she bought me a nice suit. Of course she intended for me to have it, unlike the cruel shiny bastard with the bad breath.

I keep reading 'The Twins'.
 
You are a bum," he told me, "and you'll
always be a bum!"

and I thought, if being a bum is to be the
opposite of what this son-of-a-bitch
is, then that's what I'm going to
be.

That's been a guiding principle of my life too. Great poem. Thanks for posting it.
 
Ditto. Though I've failed at it. Goddamn husbands ;)

Thank you Mr. Solo, pour la poem. I am very emotional today, so it made me tear up. Good work, Buk.
 

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