Yes, I own it; it was given to me by a generous and thoughtful friend so, to be honest, its monetary value doesn't mean that much to me.
A couple of people were interested in a scan of this mag, so I got hold of a scanner.
I didn't scan the Buk page because I didn't want to damage the spine of the magazine.
It's such a nice little magazine!
However, here is the poem:
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(page 1)
CHARLES BUKOWSKI
DRAWING ON A BAND CONCERT
ON A MATCHBOX:
drawing of paper life is so much more
pleasurable:
there are no bombs or flies or
landlords or starving
cats,
and I am in the kitchen
staring down at the blue lake of the
concertmaster
and also the trees
rowboats, boy with American flag
lady in yellow with fan
Civil War veteran
girl with balloon
spotted dog
sailboat,
the peace of an ancient day
with the sun dreaming old
battles -
John L. Sullivan emptying the pint
in his dressing room
and getting read to whip the world like a
bad child -
far from our modern life
where a doctor sticks something in your side
saying, "Is something making you nervous? Something
is killing you."
I open the matchbox, take out a beautiful wooden match
and light a cigar
I look out the window. it is raining. there will be nothing
in the park today except bums and madmen.
I blow the smoke against the wet glass and wonder what I am doing
inside here
dry and dying and
I hear the rain as a toilet flushes through the wall
(a living neighbor)
and their flowers open their arms for love
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(page 2)
I sit down next to the lady in yellow with the fan and
she smiles at me
and we talk we talk
only I can't hear for all the music
"your name? your name?" I keep asking
but she only smiles at me
and the dog is howling
but yellow is my favorite color
(Van Gogh liked it too)
yellow
and I do not blow smoke in her face
and I am there
I am actually down there in the matchbox
and I am here too.
she smiles
and I lay her right on the
stove
and it is
hot
hot
the American flat waves in
battle -
play your music concertmaster
in your red coat
with your hot July buttocks
the balloon pops and I walk across a kitchen
on a rainy day in February
to check on eggs and bread and
wine and sanity
to check on glue
to paste nice pictures
on these walls.
