Charles Bukowski (16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)
Poems by Charles Bukowski : 99 / 141
small conversation in the afternoon with John Fante
he said, "I was working in Hollywood when Faulkner was
working in Hollywood and he was
the worst: he was too drunk to stand up at the
end of the afternoon and so I had to help him
into a taxi
day after day after day.
"but when he left Hollywood, I stayed on, and while I
didn't drink like that maybe I should have, I might have
had the guts then to follow him and get the hell out of
there."
I told him, "you write as well as
Faulkner.:
"you mean that?" he asked from the hospital
bed, smiling.
Charles Bukowski
Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003
Read poems about / on: smile, work
Poems by Charles Bukowski : 99 / 141
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Fante was Bukowski's god.
Fante, the greatest, the gonest!