jddougher
Founding member
I re-read this poem today. It's in The Days Run Away...
I love it.
-----------------
mine
She lays like a lump
I can feel the great empty mountain
of her head.
But she is alive. She yawns and
scratches her nose and
pulls up the cover.
Soon I will kiss her goodnight
and we will sleep.
and far away is Scotland
and under the ground the
gophers run.
I hear engines in the night
and through the sky a white
hand whirls:
good night, dear, good night.
------------
Does anyone know whom Bukowski wrote this about?
I remember when I was a young man trying to be a poet, I held this poem in high esteem. The lines "and far away is Scotland / and under the ground the / gophers run" was maddeningly great to me. It was maddening because I wasn't sure how Bukowski could come up with those lines, which seem to have no obvious connection to one another. This, I thought, was why Bukowski was Bukowski and the rest of us were the rest of us.
Scotland and gophers? Please, help us. Help us to understand this juxtaposition.
Probably Bukowski could not help us. Did these lines come from some intense state of inebriation? To the reader, I suggest, they are delightfully appropriate. But why?
If I were able to interview Bukowski now, I would attempt to focus on such associative elements in his verse. He may very well have had no patience for such ruminations. But I suspect he would have.
I love it.
-----------------
mine
She lays like a lump
I can feel the great empty mountain
of her head.
But she is alive. She yawns and
scratches her nose and
pulls up the cover.
Soon I will kiss her goodnight
and we will sleep.
and far away is Scotland
and under the ground the
gophers run.
I hear engines in the night
and through the sky a white
hand whirls:
good night, dear, good night.
------------
Does anyone know whom Bukowski wrote this about?
I remember when I was a young man trying to be a poet, I held this poem in high esteem. The lines "and far away is Scotland / and under the ground the / gophers run" was maddeningly great to me. It was maddening because I wasn't sure how Bukowski could come up with those lines, which seem to have no obvious connection to one another. This, I thought, was why Bukowski was Bukowski and the rest of us were the rest of us.
Scotland and gophers? Please, help us. Help us to understand this juxtaposition.
Probably Bukowski could not help us. Did these lines come from some intense state of inebriation? To the reader, I suggest, they are delightfully appropriate. But why?
If I were able to interview Bukowski now, I would attempt to focus on such associative elements in his verse. He may very well have had no patience for such ruminations. But I suspect he would have.