Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Comments about Charles Bukowski

  • Charles Bukowski (9/9/2012 5:29:00 PM)

    Great poems, great poet. For more look my page: chbukowski.blogspot.com

    2 person liked.
    26 person did not like.
  • Ed Byrne (8/31/2012 4:16:00 PM)

    i think he does write for the common man, for everyman. for the working class, the drunk, the beaten and for those who want more out of there shit life, more from the people they encounter. i love his work, its refreshing not to have dire sentimental untruths.his novel ham on rye which is also a great read will give you an insight into the man.

  • Ciarli Ling (6/9/2012 6:31:00 AM)

    A very criticized Poet,
    the people must learn that instead of spiting in face of someone big,
    He was an original Poet, to say the things in his own way,
    maybe his Germanic English helped him, okay.

  • Nicole Snyder (5/16/2012 12:20:00 AM)

    I think most of these comments about his writing are off base and annoying. Are any of you even poverty level? Or just sitting in your corner office eating xanax and googling Bukowski and kiddy porn...

  • Nicole Snyder (5/16/2012 12:18:00 AM)

    I'd sit on his face for a while. N.S.

  • Michele Kostelnik Parrillo (9/27/2011 1:59:00 PM)

    Unfortunately most beat writers seem to think exactly as this poem states. I feel that he hit home on this one. No one likes to speak of it but writers sometimes die old and alone or kill them selves. I can feel his pain. Yes, I do relate... but have hope in the next life with Jesus.
    Michele Kostelnik Parrillo His poem Alone with Everybody is so original and suddenly becomes appreciable by certain poets-that walk down unusual paths.

  • Landsley Alexandre (12/9/2009 5:59:00 PM)

    cool and by the way my name is Landsley Alexandre and I was hoping you could read my poems thank you

  • Bryan Alexander (10/19/2009 10:58:00 PM)

    tonight I drink for you.... thanks henry...

  • Davide Nardi (3/27/2009 10:35:00 AM)

    BU Today wrote a wonderful ode to the master of poets:

    http: //www.bu.edu/today/campus-life/2009/03/25/hanging-with-bukowski-gotlieb-center

  • Doren Robbins Doren Robbins (12/13/2008 5:19:00 PM)

    From: “Drinking Wine In The Slaughterhouse With Septuagenarian Stew.” Read the entire essay at dorenrobbins.com. Click under ESSAYS.

    Bukowski’s poems are capable of unpretentiously relating insight with unglamorous epiphanies about the involuntary effects of difficult, unavoidable circumstances that happen in life; some celebrating the experience with humility. Humility that enhances literary style is rare; few writers contain the talent. To survive without adding to the horror is sometimes the best we can do; it is at least an effort that makes sense as a starting point. There is courage, discipline, and cunning in the effort. Finally, what remains after a poet’s survival, which is not an inconsequential matter in our culture—is the art. In the art of Bukowski the most central theme, both comically and tragically, is simply the passion to exist, to take it as it comes and recount what it was all about, and, paradoxically, the butchery done to that passion, and the butchery endured, by humans.


    Doren Robbins, doenrobbins.com

Best Poem of Charles Bukowski

A Smile To Remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!'
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, ...

Read the full of A Smile To Remember

These Things

these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;
our circle and our candle of light
being small,
so small we cannot bear it,
we heave out with Idea

[Report Error]