Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Trollius And trellises

of course, I may die in the next ten minutes
and I’m ready for that
but what I’m really worried about is
that my editor-publisher might retire
even though he is ten years younger than
it was just 25 years ago (I was at that ripe
old age of 45)
when we began our unholy alliance to
test the literary waters,
neither of us being much

I think we had some luck and still have some
of same
the odds are pretty fair
that he will opt for warm and pleasant
in the garden
long before I.

writing is its own intoxication
while publishing and editing,
attempting to collect bills
carries its own
which also includes dealing with the
petty bitchings and demands
of many
so-called genius darlings who are

I won’t blame him for getting
and hope he sends me photos of his
Rose Lane, his
Gardenia Avenue.

will I have to seek other
that fellow in the Russian
fur hat?
or that beast in the East
with all that hair
in his ears, with those wet and
greasy lips?

or will my editor-publisher
upon exiting for that world of Trollius and
hand over the
of his former trade to a
cousin, a
daughter or
some Poundian from Big

or will he just pass the legacy on
to the
Shipping Clerk
who will rise like
fingering new-found

one can imagine terrible
“Mr. Chinaski, all your work
must now be submitted in
Rondo form
triple-spaced on rice

power corrupts,
life aborts
and all you
have left
is a
bunch of

“no, no, Mr. Chinaski:
Rondo form!”

“hey, man,” I’ll ask,
“haven’t you heard of
the thirties?”

“the thirties? what’s

my present editor-publisher
and I
at times
did discuss the thirties,
the Depression
some of the little tricks it
taught us—
like how to endure on almost
and move forward

well, John, if it happens enjoy your
divertissement to
plant husbandry,
cultivate and aerate
bushes, water only in the
early morning, spread
shredding to discourage
weed growth
as I do in my writing:
use plenty of

and thank you
for locating me there at
5124 DeLongpre Avenue
somewhere between
alcoholism and

together we
laid down the gauntlet
and there are takers
even at this late date
still to be
as the fire sings
through the

Submitted: Wednesday, March 31, 2010

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