Bukowski - I saw a tramp last night (1 Viewer)

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Hi,

BoSP has just published a broadside of this poem. It measures 4.25" x 5.5".

isaw1.jpg


It is limited to an edition of 700 copies, all for friends of the press. All that I ask is that postage is paid, if possible. It will fit in a regular envelope, so they can be obtained one of four ways:

1) Paypal me $1 to [email protected]. That will cover postage and the painfully high fees that Paypal charges,
2) Send me a SASE and I'll throw a broadsides in it and return it.
3) Send me $.50 in the mail (or a couple stamps)
4) Send me an e-mail if you cannot pay postage. There is always one or two people who will send me $5 to cover others postage.

I will send these out with most BoSP orders, so if there are any titles that you want, you can buy them through the website and just remind me to include one of these, but they are in fact, free for the asking.

This poem was published in a lost issue of Scimitar & Song from the late 50's or early 60's. It was rediscovered and brought to light by Abel.

Best,
Bill
 
Thanks Bill and Abel.
What is the e-mail addy to send you $ via pay-pal Bill?,
I seem to be coming up with 3 different ones.
 
Now, I've gotta ask... do you have to jump through a lot of hoops to publish this stuff? I always wonder, especially with uncollected items...
 
A few people have paypalled my $5 each (they know who they are). Because of this, I can send some out gratis. If you want one, please just PM or e-mail me at [email protected].

Thanks to those folks for covering postage for others.

I can send out the next 15 broadsides without needing any money for postage.

Thanks,
Bill
 
bill- i ordered some books a few weeks ago... if you haven't sent them, can you toss this in with them?

thanks man.
 
Great poem, and nice looking broadside, Bill! - I've send you an e-mail!
 
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There is no need for anyone else to Paypal me any money. Please just e-mail me with your address. There are enough fine people on this forum that have covered the postage for all.

Best,
Bill
 
I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Bill has rights to any Bukowski work he wants to publish. Bukowski himself gave Bill the rights one summer night in 1991.

Bill had driven across the country in a VW Vanagon that he stole from a used car lot in Rhode Island. He found Bukowski's place in San Pedro and slept in the Vanagon, out in the street, for three days and nights, surviving on windshield moisture and feral cat meat. When the moment seemed right, he calmly got out of the Vanagon and walked up Bukowski's driveway and knocked lightly on the door.

Linda answered, and as she opened the door a few inches, Bill kicked it in. Linda was flung across the kitchen and landed in a pile of empty potato sacks. Bill turned just as Bukowski walked in and slammed the butt of his shotgun into the side of Bukowski's head.

When he regained consciousness, Bukowski was tied to a kitchen chair with the shotgun propped up on the table, pointed at his head. A wire ran from the trigger to a small wooden dowel that was held in the jaws of a nervous Australian Blue Heeler. Across the table sat Bill, smiling, eating leftovers from the refrigerator, holding a pen and some legal documents.

That's all I know, and I'm sure I'll pay a steep price for divulging it.
 
I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Bill has rights to any Bukowski work he wants to publish. Bukowski himself gave Bill the rights one summer night in 1991.

(snip....)
When he regained consciousness, Bukowski was tied to a kitchen chair with the shotgun propped up on the table, pointed at his head. A wire ran from the trigger to a small wooden dowel that was held in the jaws of a nervous Australian Blue Heeler. Across the table sat Bill, smiling, eating leftovers from the refrigerator, holding a pen and some legal documents.

That's all I know, and I'm sure I'll pay a steep price for divulging it.

How did the dog get in there past all of the cats?
 
I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Bill has rights to any Bukowski work he wants to publish. Bukowski himself gave Bill the rights one summer night in 1991. ....

Robert Crumb would do a marvellous job of illustrating that.
 
Hey, isn't Crumb somewhere in Southern France? I'm 45 minutes away from the French border, so it should be fairly easy. Now I just need le vanagon...
 
ROADTRIP!

I'll bring the ball gag.

and my truss, in case Crumb asks for a piggyback.
 
I have already contacted Crumb and although he sent me a nice letter, he declined to illustrate anything for BoSP.

Bill

Well that's a bit of a shame. Like... sight unseen, anything at all? I mean, he's getting up there and its not like he would be familiar with BoSP, but... man. That's a bit rough.
 
Well that's a bit of a shame. Like... sight unseen, anything at all? I mean, he's getting up there and its not like he would be familiar with BoSP, but... man. That's a bit rough.

Hi,
It was really nice of him to send me a nice handwritten letter (postcard). He said that he was too busy with projects that he was already committed. I completely understand, of course, plus he earns a living doing this, so it was a bit much for me to ask that he design a cover of a book for me as a favor.

Of course, he is from my neighborhood, here in Dover, but that only goes so far....

Bill
 
Oh, a handwritten note is... quite a marvel these days. I don't think I write much of anything down anymore...

Good to hear that he's still going strong into his 60s though.
 
Back to the poem -and I know this is probably too obvious- but don't you think the poem makes sense as well if you replace the word "dog" with "Bukowski"?
 
I can vouch for mjp ... every word is true. Bill got Bukowski to sign some of those potato sacks and a rare book dealer in Fresno has them hidden away and has been selling them quietly one at a time for $800 a bag. No one really knows what happened to the potatos but I hear Bill ate them all, raw, and got a hell of a bellyache from it.
 
just found out about this and wanted to say thanks to all the cool people who were so generous. hope i can chip in in the future on these types of offers.
 
Yup, you're right. Bukowski was a complete nobody back then. So being nobody's dog was better than being Bukowski. That makes perfect sense.

Yeah, there are many pre-1958 published poems much better than this one. Let's see. Hmm. Uh? Anyone?
 

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