Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Some People


some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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Comments about this poem (Some People by Charles Bukowski )

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  • Jess Leask (8/6/2009 4:50:00 AM)

    Ahaha@Alex.
    There's nothing better than poetic snobbery.
    For god's sake, get over yourself. (Report) Reply

  • Alex Campion (5/18/2009 2:13:00 PM)

    I'm pretty sure Bukowski wrote a poem in which he lambasted people for printing versions of poems that HE wrote the way THEY would have liked to have written them. Yuri, you ought never to be allowed to read poetry again. And whomever submitted this, you are the Bane of artists everywhere including myself. When you have a child, I shall come round and chop off a couple of fingers and perhaps a toe, then put out an eye and brand its chest with my initials. Then you'll understand. (Report) Reply

  • Yuri Duraan (4/12/2008 7:01:00 PM)

    I love it! ! ! I still like your version more than that of lina v... it says enough and more! ! Yuri * (Report) Reply

  • lina v (3/8/2008 11:56:00 AM)

    missing the best parts

    'some people':

    some people never go crazy.
    me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
    for 3 or 4 days.
    they'll find me there.
    it's Cherub, they'll say, and
    they pour wine down my throat
    rub my chest
    sprinkle me with oils.
    then, I'll rise with a roar,
    rant, rage -
    curse them and the universe
    as I send them scattering over the
    lawn.
    I'll feel much better,
    sit down to toast and eggs,
    hum a little tune,
    suddenly become as lovable as a
    pink
    overfed whale.
    some people never go crazy.
    what truly horrible lives
    they must lead. (Report) Reply

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