anecdotes (1 Viewer)


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you could include a new section devoted to anecdotes and such. I know a very nice one, not famous, but funny. It's in the Pivanna book.
I meant the forum. I see you're changing the structure as we build it up!!! I though a new section devoted to anecdotes, famous little stories about B, etc., would be great!

I'll post it when I have time. can we scan parts of books and post them here or permissions are required?
Eh, that's dodgy territory. If you're excerpting it's okay. I don't want anyone to post complete published poems or far as unpublished stuff...

I have permissions to post some things, but that goes back to a deal I made with BS, so I don't know what the status of any of that is. I may be meeting with Linda Bukowski in the next month or so, and if I do, I'll try to wrangle permissions and material out of her.

I'd say feel free to excerpt, and if anyone at ECCO screams we'll deal with it then.
of course I was talking about excerpts. you don't want me spend the whole day scanning B stuff, do you? I once scanned the Dorbin book (which I kindly email it to you a few years ago, remember?) and that was it. No more serious scanning, ever!
there it goes, the human heart anecdote, taken from "Charles Bukowski. Laughing with the Gods," by Fernanda Pivano, pp. 96-97.


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I see where you're going with this. If we can get enough of these anecdotes together we can break them off into a forum.

When I get home I'll post a good one from Steve Richmond's Spinning Off Bukowski. Though the way Richmond comes across in the Born Into This interview, you have to take his memories with a grain of salt...
His story of watching Bukowski physically shrink in size is hilarious. Richmond has obviously consumed his share of drugs/drink. He may have been living the life Hunter Thompson always claimed to live. Thompson certainly did his share of living, but like Bukowski, elaborated and exaggerated his consumption.

Interesting that both were semi-autobiographical in their most widely known work, and it seems that when you're writing about yourself you have to appropriate or invent stories at some point. The well just runs dry on one person's experiences, and they have to keep writing, so...
From Steve Richmond's Spinning Off Bukowski:

One night in 1968 or 1969 Bukowski was here by himself and the two of us were quite drunk and he asked if he could sleep on the couch. Yes. He was in no condition to drive.

Ah yes, Hank - right exactly where I sit now, began preparing for sleep on the old couch. He took off his pants and MY GOD he took off his undershorts. He took off his shirt; I saw his back. His back shook me up some because of scars - acne vulgaris scars. It was much worse scarring then I had supposed. In fact I hadn't known his extreme skin problems as a child were on his back too.

And Hank put on again his sleeveless white undershirt. He moved slow in first sitting, then getting on his back, lying down now on the couch. A minute passed and he slowly got up to his feet and walked a step to a pile of newspapers and he picked up several parts of an old L.A. Times and he returned to the couch and again lay on his back.

I offered him clean sheets and a blanket but he said no.

All he wore was the undershirt, and I am the sort of fellow who feels uneasy in the company of a man or men who are nude. I was taking secret side peeks at Hank to see how he was doing. I mean, how often have you, gentle reader, had a friend over to your own cave and who you simply know for sure is Earth's best writer and who is lying on his back virtually naked and then slowly blanketing himself with old newspapers?

It was obvious he had done this many times before in his life on park benches scattered all over America.
From Bukowski Review #3
A.D. Winans Charles Bukowski and the Second Coming Revolution

On the night of the reading, I met Bukowski outside the Veteran's Auditorium, a strange place to have a poetry reading. Bukowski was scheduled to read after William Stafford. He said he didn't want to listen to Stafford read, so I accompanied him across the street to a small bar called The Court Room...

Bukowski had the keys to Ferlinghetti's van, which was in an alley not far from the Veteran's Auditorium. After a few drinks, we left the bar, and walked to the van where Buk had stored a pint of vodka in the back seat.
Bukowski sat in the back of Ferlinghetti's van while I sat in the front seat. I watched him reach under the back seat and remove the pint of vodka, downing half the bottle in less than thirty seconds. I was surprised when he refused to share the bottle with me. Perhaps sensing my hurt, he leaned toward me and said, "A.D., I need every drop to see me through the reading. If it weren't for the money, I wouldn't give these damn things. I'm like a beggar singing for his supper."
from jory sherman's memoir - "on friday, october 19, 1973, KCET, a public television station in los angeles, held a private screening of a movie by taylor hackford and richard davies, entitled BUKOWSKI. hank wrote me a letter about this and sent a pass for me and my wife, charlotte. then, he called and asked me if i'd come and take him to the screening. he was very nervous about seeing himself on the screen. at that time, he was living with the sculptress/poet linda king. charlotte and i drove to her house and we had some drinks, went out to dinner. then i drove them in linda's volkswagen car that was a miniature of a german staff car, over to barnsdall park where the film was to be shown in the municipal art gallery theatre. we had been ejected from the restaurant, a german biergarten where hank had been 86'd before, for obscenity and pinching the waitress' buttocks. no problem. we'd been kicked out of joints before. hank and i both use language to its fullest, even in conversation. once, in rialto, when he was staying with us, charlotte, hank and i went to the pizza hut and had about four pitchers of beer. a pizza and one of our usual mad conversations full of "shits" and "fucks" and "cocksuckers." patrons fled from the place in droves until we were the only ones left. the manager kept trying to get us to leave. we told him to fuck off. finally, he said that there was no charge - the bill was $12 - if we'd just leave. we finished off the beer and left. in the parking lot outside, hank and i got into a fistfight. charlotte finally separated us because it was rumored that the police had been called. this was the usual way our nights ended when we had been up drinking. hank always wanted to demonstrate how tough and brutal he was.


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this anecdote thread is great, but I'm not sure it needs it's own forum but please by all means keep going. Some of these I have never heard.

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