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User Rating: |
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8.8
/10
(133
votes)
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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, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
Charles Bukowski
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Read poems about / on: happy, smile, cat, father, mother, fish, water, home, remember, fishing
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Comments about this poem (a smile to remember
by
Charles Bukowski
) |
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Click here to write your
comments about this poem (a smile to remember by
Charles Bukowski
)
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Mark Lewis Berryann
(10/18/2009 10:40:00 AM) |
The title gripped me with what should have been a guaranteed smile for me then, Charles opened up upon his dark memories and saddened pictures of his mother enduring the pain for the sake of his safety. The chills have come to my arms, gone away, and come back again several times now! I can almost see his mother's sad smile and feel his young scared heart. I only wish Charles were here still, I would ask him to read my poem 'The War' to offer him some solice.10
Mark
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Bryan Alexander
(9/18/2009 12:31:00 AM) |
If charlie wasn't a poet then there never were any....
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palas kumar ray
(3/12/2009 1:16:00 PM) |
===========================================================
Smile, Henry smile.
I find an universal mother in her who's never conquered by the mundane miseries.
Henry must smile.
==========================================================
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Milan Kaplan
(11/14/2008 5:02:00 PM) |
I must agree with Mr Seminara: 'Poetry is defined by the poet.'
Those who think that it is not a poem should perhaps make a list of features that characterise poetry.
Well, what have you put down:
1. rhymes - no, modern poetry does not need rhymes since they are in the way of spontaneity and create a frame, that is, in my view, artificial. Yes, medieval, reneissance... times revelled in form and the poet was often judged by his/her ability to cram (some) meaning into various forms (sonnet, rondel etc.) of various degree of restrictions. Modernists got rid of rhymes: attempting at expressing yourself the coincidence that one word rhymes with another is hardly a sufficient reason why to put it at the end of the line. I suggest that those who require rhymes call themselves tradicionalists - I, not being one of them, will insist that it is a poem since it fits my idea of poetry that I give hereinafter.
2. Obviously there are other features intrinsic to poetry as assonance, metrical feet etc. - again the point no.1 can be applied - they are expression of form and as modern poetry sought spontaneity form became a cage they wanted to break out of.
Still, the two points I mentioned contain something that is very important to poetry and that is rhythm - yes, poetry has always been expected to be more rhytmical than, say, novels or stories. And rhythm is something what I expect from poetry too - but not the artificial rhythm of forms given in advance but the rhythm of poet's thoughts. Yes, poetry has always been very subjective, it recreates the moment, as somebody put it, and therefore there is no space for explaining. The narrator (novels, stories) tends to explain more, describe - the poet relies more on you seeing the links for yourself since he/she wants to recreate the moment on the emotional, not factula, level.
And so you see the way Mr Bukowski cut up his POEM into lines (sometimes just one word on the line) - yes the lines are the rhythm of his thoughts. He would not do it, if he wanted to create a short story. The lines are his decision - yes, he meant this as a poem. Try to write a short story in this way - it would annoy the reader since narration has different (intrinsic) rules and goals.
What I leave out is obvious overlaying of genres - poetic features in narration, narrative features in poems - that is another, long, story.
Let me repeat in the end what was said at the beginning:
Poetry is defined by the poet.
The poet has
the
right
to do it while
the reader
has
the right
to say
this is not poetry
TO ME
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Greenwolfe 1962
(9/1/2008 4:13:00 AM) |
I had heard a lot of things about Bukowski, but I had never really read anything
he had written until I read this. Lamont is right. This is not a poem at all.
What I find to be fascinating is rading all the comments by others here calling this a poem. It is hilarious. And it may be the best part about this whole thing. As for
the prose piece that Bukowski actually wrote, it is absolutely wonderful prose.
I love sentiment, and this piece is loaded with it. I owe this man an apology.
GW62
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Sreelekha Premjit
(3/3/2008 8:44:00 AM) |
a beautiful poem. a tribute to all those who smile in pain.
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Ellis D.
(2/12/2008 12:03:00 PM) |
i'm a total bukowski hound......only discovered him 1 1/2 years ago.........love this one, but far far far from his best.....so many more exhibit his style and flair, the soul of a bukowski......but great nonetheless.................and do yourselves a favour and check out buck 65's track 'the floor' off of the album 'secret house against the world'...........and if you don't know buck, well he's to music and (canadian) hip-hop, in particular, as bukowski is to american poetry and literature..........buck 65, check it out............the subliminal kid........
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Angeline Andre
(1/13/2008 9:20:00 AM) |
its a very sad but beutiful poem
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Charles Bukowski
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