You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense

True
one of Lorea's best lines is,
"agony, always...
agony"
think of this when you
kill a cockroach or
pick up a razor to shave
or awaken in the morning to
face the sun
------
"sometimes all we need to be able to continue
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in."
-------
"it felt like screaming in a madhouse
the madhouse of my world"
------
A Cat is a Cat is a Cat
"he [Beethoven] did fine
for what he was
but I wouldn't want
him
on my rug
with one leg
over his head while
he was licking his balls."
-----

If you can only buy one of his books I highly recommend this one. It has poetry about his cats, his wife Linda, politics, religion, opinions on cops, lots of softer sides of him but still with the rough edges, a poem about his grandmother, poems mentioning those he respects and admires, a few poems that seem to point to his struggle with being bipolar (I am as well) with my fav being "Let's Make a Deal".

In short: buy it.

I love reading and surprisingly I love this poetry book. (Don't read much poetry) I'm constantly quoting and referencing this book because I think it's just amazing. I recommend any Bukowski fans to purchase this book!

This is my fist venture into the world of Bukowski and I loved every word of it. I began reading as soon as i opened the shipping package and couldn't stop. Such a refreshingly straightforward writing style. He tells a story so concisely and still jams them full of life: bleak, desperate, drunk, and honest life. I'm instantly hooked. I cannot wait to get my other Charles Bukowski orders.

I always liked he's writings specifically poetry and how you can say if you dislike or do not simply we can understand or not, we could relate to it or not, we could get on the road with the author or choose not to we have a free choice to continue reading or grab a different book..but most importantly we do have a choice ..or maybe not ? as I'm not allowed to make a free choice trapped in between my reality and imagination of the world around us

Reading Bukowski is a dangerous affair; one should probably wear a mind condom. Seriously, I can't remember a time when a book made me feel dirty and drunk from just reading it, and I don't mean that "drunk with love" Lifetime crap. I almost joined AA, I tell you. Now I need a shower too.

On a more serious note, Buk is at his best when his cynicism and misanthropy gets the best of him, "Relentless as the tarantula" and "Drive through hell" are prime examples of this. In a way, his genius stems from letting the reader soak in his world without having him/her feel utterly depressed. It's mean, blunt, dark, direct. This would he explain why he gets along so well with cats.

A total riot!

I love Bukowski's fiction, its straightforward, unadorned, yet precise diction, and its degraded, yet implacable hero(es?).

Poetry, to me, has always seemed a florid waste of time, and a lazy man's game. It seems like shorthand at its best moments.

But I can't get over the fact that this guy, while making fun of the form, is able to nail his little portraits with alarming consistency.

Some of these, like "My Ivy League Friends," are narrative, mean and straight.

Others, still eschewing metaphor, are humming, man-shaped bells, like "No Help For That."

There are some duds, and I won't bother pointing to them because they'll be obvious when you come to them.

But, I like this guy a lot. He's real, even when he does his best to avoid it.

Bukowski was the Charlie Parker of modern day authors. Some don't see his work as "deep and meaningful". Some don't get it. He was the first to do what he did and many followed wondering why they didn't think of being so open, raw and honest with their feelings. You can read one of his books and enjoy it but the real discovery is reading them all in order to get the whole "picture" of his life and thoughts. Just like Charlie Parkers music.
I discovered Bukowski while browsing through a long-gone, very hip used jazz/bookstore in San Fransisco back in the early 80's and since then, I have read every single word Bukowski ever published.
Growing up in L.A., I could identify with the places, the smells, the dynamics of what he wrote and he is one of the very few authors that can make me read the same book a second time, a third time, and get a totally different feel from it. I highly recommend reading Bukowski. All of Bukowski.

I would not recommend this book to my enemies. If I wasn't a normal and well adjusted person it would make me want to commit suicide. I thought it was going to have some great insights to todays society. But it was nothing but depressing.

I started reading this at the prodding of a friend and after just 5 chapters I was wondering why I was giving part of my life away to this self martyring author that has too much anger and just cant seem to get up off his chair to start having a good life. He seemed too intent on staying submerged in his own self induced melancholy and all too focused on dismantling his life by remembering and ruminating on the actions of other people that hurt him. Please allow this volume to remain dusty in the back of the bookcase.

A good collection. Hard to rate it against his earliest poems. These poems are more refined. He is moving towards the end of his career and he was in a reflective mood. His parents and grandma featured in quite a few poems as did his teenage years. He never lost the ability to make me smile or laugh. Some of the race track poems which were a feature throughout his career were some of his best regarding life at the track. The cat poems also reappear. An enjoyable collection. Bukowski did not seem to write bad books. Even the average ones had standouts within. Some of the poems read as self criticism of his earlier life in his dealings with booze and women while others celebrate how good his life was when it was at it's most basic. Bukowski had no trouble telling the world about his regrets. A good read on it's own or as part of his collected works.

A friend of mine had purchased this collection of poems for me on account of my praise for Charles Bukowski and the title reminded this friend of myself. Bukowski maintains a following because of his visceral honesty. He leaves the pretension that is often associated with poetry to others. The booze, the broads, the gambling, the sheer agony of the day to day is all recorded here. I found myself enjoying the book more and more as I progressed through its pages even though there were stand out poems early on. I will say, that if you are brand new to Bukowski this is probably not the place to start as there are many references to what he assumes the reader already knows about him. That said, if you know a fair deal about him, or have read some of his novels or other poetry books, this will fit ever so nicely into your collection. I love poetry, I read a broad spectrum of poets from varying countries, time periods and styles. Bukowski is one of my favorites and often one I recommend to those who are initially intimidated or put off by poetry.

A collection of poems by Charles Bukowski is always a great joy. I followed his career since I was in high school back in the early 80s. He wrote a series of short stories for High Times magazine which I eagerly devoured. Then I moved on to his poetry. This collection: You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense is from 1986 when Buk was already a bit older and more reflective. This is around the time that his work began to reveal a degree of tenderness to go with his raw tough edged muse. Many say he lost it at this point. I disagree with that assessment. True it does not display the intense passion of Love Is A Dog From Hell but it is a great work on its own merit. Open it to any page and start reading. This is still vintage Hank. Aging Buk still has more blood and guts than most poets achieve ever. Anyone can just scream and curse. Bukowski obviously achieved something greater than that. And given how some other postal workers turned out, we should be grateful that Buk took to firing poems instead of bullets. Two thumbs up!

Put aside any politically correct concerns you have before reading this volume. Bukowski's Hemingway-esque voice doesn't leave room for any sensitivities. His poetry is the better for it - unsanitized, vibrant, loud, coarse and unique, these poems are full of the pain & humour of being an ordinary human being in the 20th century.

My first exposure to Bukowski and what a find. I'll be reading more of his poetry as as I can order the books!

Let's get this clear from the start: Charles Bukowski is the greatest American poet, who just happens to be unknown to the Americans I talk to. Just the other day in the library, I asked for his famous "Post Office" and they told me "Charles who?"
"You've never heard of Charles Bukowski?"
"No." The Librarian gave me a puzzled look.
"He's the greatest American poet?"
"Really?"
And so on...
What can I tell you about this book? Like in any other Buck's book there's so much trash in here that it's hard to make out what's good. There are several poems that are true masterpieces like "Trashcan Lives" or "Darkness," and some others. Would I recommend it? YES! If you're just starting to read Bukowski, don't bother with this, get an anthology. If you know Buck's works already, get this, you'll love it!

Bukowski is a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant poet who has always impressed with his ability to make the small events of his life incredibly profound. Since I began reading Bukowski, I've picked up each of his collections with the frame of mind that this will be the backbreaker. This will be the collection which will vault Bukowski to the front of my list of favorite poets, placing him among other true originals like Pound, Cummings, and Ginsberg. Each time, Bukowski comes despairingly close. The poet produced great work upon great work but never shook the world, never changed the way I breathed with one deft stroke, never blew the roof off. Par for the course, this colletion is simply amazing but not quite earth shaking.

Let's get this clear from the start: Charles Bukowski is the greatest American poet, who just happens to be unknown to the Americans I talk to. Just the other day in the library, I asked for his famous "Post Office" and they told me "Charles who?"
"You've never heard of Charles Bukowski?"
"No." The Librarian gave me a puzzled look.
"He's the greatest American poet?"
"Really?"
And so on...
What can I tell you about this book? Like in any other Buck's book there's so much trash in here that it's hard to make out what's good. There are several poems that are true masterpieces like "Trashcan Lives" or "Darkness," and some others. Would I recommend it? YES! If you're just starting to read Bukowski, don't bother with this, get an anthology. If you know Buck's works already, get this, you'll love it!

Bukowski is a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant poet who has always impressed with his ability to make the small events of his life incredibly profound. Since I began reading Bukowski, I've picked up each of his collections with the frame of mind that this will be the backbreaker. This will be the collection which will vault Bukowski to the front of my list of favorite poets, placing him among other true originals like Pound, Cummings, and Ginsberg. Each time, Bukowski comes despairingly close. The poet produced great work upon great work but never shook the world, never changed the way I breathed with one deft stroke, never blew the roof off. Par for the course, this colletion is simply amazing but not quite earth shaking.

I do not like poetry. However, I started reading Bukowski's books so went ahead and bought most of them When I got to this one I was initially disappointed when I saw what it was. I started reading though and was blown away...the writing is visceral and real in a way most poetry is not.

Bukowski just does it with words, like no other. I swear, I didn't know words could be arranged like this. Only in a great great while can someone, maybe be drunk and brilliant at the same time and create a masterpiece. Bukowski did it most of his life and he just wanted to be left alone. What a tragic life, not really, he got laid and bet on the horses and became famous.

if you're wondering just what constitutes something like genius (years upon years of learning pooled with monstrous natural ability), check out 'it's ours', the closing poem in this collection. one of the most resonant, original poems ever written in english. how brilliant is the placement of the last word in this poem? you decide. 'it's ours' is the reward for a writer who paid his dues by the pound, searching for the perfect poem for forty years.
other highs include 'concrete', a poem about soaring eagles and imaginary infedility, 'i thought the stuff tasted worse than usual', and maybe the only other genuinely brilliant poem in the collection, 'retired', a simple, vivid, beautiful piece of writing about the author's father. pork chops, anyone?
here's a taste. this is a poem called 'helping the old'. and remember, you're never alone, not if you have access to a library, or for that matter pen and paper. adios.
I was standing in line at the bank today when the old fellow in front of me dropped his glasses (luckily, within the case) and as he bent over I saw how difficult it was for him and I Said, "wait, let me get them . . . " but as I picked them up he dropped his cane a beautiful, black polished cane and I got the glasses back to him then went for the cane steadying the old boy as I handed him his cane. he didn't speak, he just smiled at me. then he turned forward.
I stood behind him waiting my turn.

...

With your arm around your sweet one in your Oldsmobile

Barrelin' down the boulevard

You're looking for the heart of Saturday night

You get paid on Friday, pockets are jinglin'

And you see the lights you get all tinglin'

'Cause you're cruisin' with a six

And you're looking for the heart of Saturday night

Then you comb your hair, shave your face

Tryin' to wipe out every trace

All the other days in the week you know that this'll be the Saturday

You're reachin' your peak

Stoppin' on the red, you're goin' on the green

'Cause tonight'll be like nothin' you've ever seen

And you're barrelin' down the boulevard

Lookin' for the heart of Saturday night

Tell me is it the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin?

Telephone's ringin', it's your second cousin

Is it the barmaid that's smilin' from the corner of her eye?

Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye

Makes it kind of quiver down in the core

'Cause you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before

And now you're stumblin'

You're stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night

You gassed her up and you're behind the wheel

With your arm around your sweet one in your Oldsmobile

Barrellin' down the boulevard

You're lookin' for the heart of Saturday night

Is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin?

Telephone's ringin', it's your second cousin

And the barmaid is smilin' from the corner of her eye

Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye

Makes it kind of special down in the core

And you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before

It's found you stumblin'

Stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night

And you're stumblin'

Stumblin onto the heart of Saturday night

Once again, as always, Buk achieves perfection. Perhaps one of my most cherished collection amongst my many, many dogged, ragged Buk items. I can't do justice to this collection by trying to piece together a few ill-written words that try to capture the beauty accomplished by Buk, so I won't try. Just know that you're missing out if you haven't gotten this yet, and if you continue to pass it up. Get it now, and you'll realize that. Then, you'll finally be able to at least get some joy out of your solitude.

This is poetry with clarity, wit and a strong dose of everyday reality. Enjoyable reading and I could not put it down until it was finished. A few months later I read it again and it resonated again...

This book is one of the most influential books of poetry in my life. Growing up in Los Angeles I can relate to Bukowski. Bukowski is similar to John Steinbeck in that to truly appreciate his work you have to visit what they wrote about. To truly appreciate Steinbeck you have to visit Salinas or drive up the California coast. Similarly, to truly appreciate Bukowski you have to visit Los Angeles. You have to drive the freeways, go to the race tracks, and experience the city. The real city, not Hollywood, Disneyland, or Malibu. Although Los Angeles is glamorized in the media as a magical place where movie stars roam exotic beaches, Bukowski writes of Los Angeles as an ordinary, lonesome, city and he writes of it from the view of an ordinary, lonesome man. Its the fact that Bukowski writes in such a way to portray life and especially "magical" Los Angeles in such a real setting that draws you to this book. He writes about his alcoholism, wasting money at the race tracks, prostitutes, and homelessness, things that you ordinarily relate to New York or Chicago, but not Los Angeles. What makes this book so great is that Bukowski proves you can make ordinary people interesting and even if you take all the glimmer away from Los Angeles it's still very interesting. The subtle themes that run through Bukowski's poetry are exactly what I have stated, that ordinary people are interesting. Also another subtle theme, I would like to add, is that no indiviual is the center of the universe. No matter what you are doing, and how important you think what you are doing is, life still goes on around you. Life exists outside of your sphere. Someone somewhere is doing something more important than you. I think this theme is especcialy relevant to Los Angelitos because many of them can't get past the fact that the world does not revolve around them. So, if you enjoy poems that expose the world for what it is, and don't spice up reality, than this is an excellent book. I also reccomend it for college students because it will change your whole outlook on life. I recomend that those younger than college age do not read it because of the vulgarity and also Bukowski deals with alot of mature themes that are not appropraite for younger readers.

I hate "poets." I like back-alley writers though; Bukowski is as back alley as they come. I wish I'd learned about his writings back when I still believed that life could be nice or fair. That would've saved me a lot of frustration.