Treasure Island

Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame


some dogs who sleep At night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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Comments about this poem (Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame by Charles Bukowski )

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  • Assorted Thoughts (12/9/2011 10:13:00 PM)

    This is one of the best odes
    An enduring shrine to both the love and the beloved (although, who exactly is this Jane character...?) (Report) Reply

  • Ray Schreiber (5/10/2011 10:53:00 PM)

    To have such words with so much longing dedicated to you 28 years after your passing is a tribute few of us will ever receive. (Report) Reply

  • Lilah Weiss (3/28/2006 6:30:00 PM)

    Brilliant, love the last line. He throws the words at you like he's closing the theatre curtains; dramatic, nonchalantly and with a very big grin, because he knows he's just put on a hell of a show -.- (Report) Reply

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