Curse you, Charles Bukowski

Image

*Image found HERE

Curse you, Charles Bukowski

Curse you, perverted old man,
And your blackened fields of wheat
That preach corrosion and curl
Better then your lips ever did.
Because of you I pine
Looking down at the sidewalk,
Because of you I collect dropped coins
And throw them from bridges
Like a damn granter of wishes.
Because of you
I have nothing left to give,
Because of you I drag myself around
And choke on clouds,
I sing of death, drunk and numb,
Sitting in bars like I own the sorrow,
But reeking of life.

Curse you, I say, curse you,
And your brothels and planets
Conspiring behind shower curtains
And cabinet doors
Far more eloquently than you could ever lie to me.
Because of you I sink myself into cobwebs
And go out war-painted like something new
With mascara swapped for tattoos of windows,
Because of you I know where the only strip club
In this city is, and I never went to it,
Because I know I won’t see in there
Anything I haven’t already seen on the street,
Where I was stumbling and yearning because of you,
Where I claimed cobblestones and chairs
And ordered one same food
And nothing could escape my mouth except
“This ain’t no love, pretty one,
only a slow amputation,
chaos and destruction.”
Because of you I ain’t sharing this death.

Curse you, bloody curse you
And your whiskey breath,
Curse your intoxication and your delirium,
Nesting and lulling here beneath my skin
And asking lullabies,
Like they are my children.
Because of you my loved ones always have to feed the birds,
Because of you I keep a box of wilted petals,
Because of you I was too proud, too damn melancholic
To let them rot in some herbarium of a history teacher,
Because of you I know more numbers then my heart can take,
Because of you I’m forced to vastness that can’t fit a glass
And just brush me off and pass me
And go away.

Curse you, wrinkled sack of jester tears,
Curse you and your truth and dried fears
Which linger from the yesteryears like funeral bells,
Curse you, because of you I’m buried alive.
Because of you I order cheap knives
And tie them to ceilings of my bedrooms,
Because of you I’m not sure if I’m blood or words
And I have to check it out,
Because of you I feel sorry for the blade,
Because of you I take stranger’s hands
And lead them where they can’t follow me,
But I’m here, knotting the pain to my lungs,
Offering each dream for cremation,
Strumming with my tongue an ode
To pointless laceration,

Curse you, I must curse you,
Curse you, cut you out, mop the floor
Of the residue you gift me
When all I want to do is stay dead.
Because of you I tried to bribe the Cheron with a poem,
Because of you I feel like
Missing strand of DNA
Between dung beetles and Sizifus,
Because of you I’d climb a mountain just to roar
And not leap,
Because of you I can’t sleep
And I have this need to retrieve the dolls from the junkyard,
To weave them dresses of old newspapers
And my old skin
Then find a nice, thin crack in the sky
And draw them in and tell them
“Everything you ever knew about love is wrong.”
I must curse you so you stop speaking
And start digging,
Digging through me with your strong hands
Versus my weak,
Dig until we’re both tired enough to creep
Beds that scare us,
And undress us to our bones.

But curse you, I am drunk on stars because of you,
Curse you, I am ancient palace, closed down movie theaters
Conspiring in the darkness how to strangle the audience
And engulf the whole world in silence;
The wardrobe for a 1960s play about swans and cigarettes,
Curse you,
I am a minuet for your hoarse
And nothing else
And curse you, bloody curse you,
I like it.

*Long ago inspired, a prompt I hosted at WDBWP a few weeks back nudged me to finish it.

Advertisements

~ by Oloriel on May 10, 2014.

53 Responses to “Curse you, Charles Bukowski”

  1. Outstanding, Oloriel: chilling, raw, powerful and oddly beautiful. xxx

  2. Bukowski was one of my first literary loves, he was and still is, the king of debauchery and orgy of self-indulgence. I love the man.

    • Same here. When reading him first time, it felt like a blow to the bloodvessels, it was a completely different experience then all the other stuff I read before, it made me feel so much alive and lonely and so much dead and less lonely and I can’t shake off that feeling ever since.

  3. Reblogged this on The Mirror Obscura and commented:
    A wonderful poem about the ‘Bad Bard” himself. Excellent work Oloriel. >KB

    • Thank you very much for the reblog, KB, I appriciate it!

      • Oloriel, I hope you received lots of traffic. I have over 230 likes on my side of things. It was a beautifully constructed poem. I know enough about Buckowski to fill a page maybe but you did an excellent and artistic job with the subject at hand. For me it is the best thing your have ever written and I have always liked your work. So in the end it was my pleasure. Best>KB

      • Oh, i am not even close to that, but for me it is not about traffic. It is about his ghost putting a hand on my shoulder and brings me in the sweet optionless state where I simply have to write.
        Thank you very much for your compliment, it brings a smile to my face to know that what I wrote resonated with someone and that they could recognise something mutual in the words 🙂

      • You’re entirely welcomed Oloriel. >KB

  4. Yes, we have curses for Bukowski…the loveliest of monsters. Outstanding poem.

  5. Powerful stuff and wonderful as ever

  6. “That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.”
    ― Charles Bukowski, Women

    • Indeed, it’s exactly these kind of things he used to say that would completely implode a reality. Thank you for sharing the quote with me! 🙂

  7. Excellent!!

  8. strong!!!

  9. you nailed him

  10. Wow when I read that I was almost rapping omg how powerful just wow

  11. Great writing, Oloriel. Fantastic in its theme, words, images and in its entirety. 🙂

  12. This is epic, I like every bit of it.

  13. Just wow!

  14. kontao sam da ce d akrene u nekom drugom pravcu (sto se tice stihova) jel stihijski izadje pesma, ili se dobro promislis pre nego sto uklopis stihove u strofu? Izvini na radoznalosti, ali ovo je bas kompleksno! mnogo dobro 🙂

  15. Shit, that’s good.

  16. I read this poem aloud on Sunday and managed to capture my household’s attention. When I was done, there was a short silence, and then one girl remarked, “What a passionate poem!” and another guy said, “That’s some hardcore pissed off persona!”

    Sometimes I read a poem aloud just to get them to listen to it, because, on their own, they always have other things in mind.

    I could use this poem to elaborate on tone and attitude in poetry. They really do come out clearly when it is read aloud.

    • Ha, in your household at least people know who Bukowski is. In mine, my guess would be they would think it is a vaccum cleaner company or similar 😀
      I thank you for sharing with me how people commented. I wonder what would the person dubbing me hardcore pissed say if they would hear me read it? I sound just like a girly-girl trying to recite Mary had a little lamb, no mater how enraged I am 😀

  17. On reading Bukowski’s collected works that cock sucking whore bastard bunghole blowing runk has a keen heart and an all true view of half our lives. I wanted to write him a letter but couldn’t find what whore house he was working out of. Too many of his poems struck home. Love the Bard and loved your poem. Also thanks for visiting.

    • I could not agree, too many! Sometimes I wish to ressurect him and as he rises from the grave covered in dirt, slap him, then hug him.
      Thank you very much for reading!

  18. Oh, Oloriel! This is Amazing. You always wow me and this is an entirely different creature… and i still l<3ve it! Hums with energy.

  19. Gorgeous imagery! Ragged, dark and beautiful! Love ya work! ❤

  20. Raw and real and reaching deep and far.

  21. “I want to live, not just survive”

Tell me something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
Clacks Header

A massively unofficial fan site to remember Sir Terry Pratchett

Poet's Parlor

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Nemirne misli se poigravaju s umom...

Pišem ono što mi se mota po umu u trenutku kada naidje dama inspiracija

Ward Clever

I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said because I was talking

Pieced By HB

A Blog By Hudson Biko

A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave

Living, Fighting, Thriving. Till I Collapse.

Christina Strigas

You can't break up with a soul mate

eclecticismgunfight

Poetry by Shawn M. Young

A Word Of Substance

"Object Relations"

Insights from "Inside"

Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"

My Peacock Books

Books, Art, Poetry & Peacocks!

Whisper and the Roar

A Feminist Literary Collective (& outlaw poets swearing)

samantha lucero

she writes stuff sometimes.

Bradley K Palmer Art

#painting #art #design #color #drawing #abstract #landscape #cityscape

%d bloggers like this: