cirerita
Founding member
I was manually tilling the ground with a hoe -I have a small vegetable garden in my plot- feeling very un-Bukowskian when all of a sudden I recalled an early B poem abouts "politics" and thought it would be nice to upload it here. So I'm sitting in front of the computer with my feet covered in dirt, my hands dusty and chapped and trying to find the link between hoeing the ground and Bukowski's apolitical stance. Go figure!
Originally published in SAN FRANCISCO REVIEW v. 1 no. 8 (March 1961), p. 26. Revised & collected in A3). [I think A3 is Longshot Pomes...]
Uncollected as of 2006.
edit: I'm also drinking -and I'm no drinker, believe me- a Voll Dam Spanish beer. 7,2°, which is pretty strong for a beer. It tastes of stout. In fact it's called Double Stout Voll Dam. You know, drinking a bit helps to till the ground better :D
Originally published in SAN FRANCISCO REVIEW v. 1 no. 8 (March 1961), p. 26. Revised & collected in A3). [I think A3 is Longshot Pomes...]
Uncollected as of 2006.
edit: I'm also drinking -and I'm no drinker, believe me- a Voll Dam Spanish beer. 7,2°, which is pretty strong for a beer. It tastes of stout. In fact it's called Double Stout Voll Dam. You know, drinking a bit helps to till the ground better :D