Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Charles Bukowski Poems

121. Friends Within The Darkness 1/1/2004
122. Oh Yes 1/13/2003
123. Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame 1/1/2004
124. 2 Flies 3/31/2010
125. For Jane 1/13/2003
126. Cows In Art Class 1/13/2003
127. 40,000 1/13/2003
128. Girl In A Miniskirt Reading The Bible Outside My Window 1/13/2003
129. A Following 1/13/2003
130. Carson Mccullers 1/3/2003
131. Raw With Love 1/1/2004
132. Big Night On The Town 1/13/2003
133. Close To Greatness 1/3/2003
134. Let It Enfold You 1/1/2004
135. To The Whore Who Took My Poems 1/13/2003
136. Consummation Of Grief 1/13/2003
137. The Genius Of The Crowd 1/13/2003
138. Back To The Machine Gun 1/3/2003
139. A Challenge To The Dark 1/13/2003
140. As The Poems Go 1/13/2003
141. A Radio With Guts 1/13/2003
142. As The Sparrow 1/13/2003
143. Cause And Effect 1/13/2003
144. Confession 1/3/2003
145. Are You Drinking? 1/13/2003
146. Be Kind 1/13/2003
147. An Almost Made Up Poem 1/13/2003
148. And The Moon And The Stars And The World 1/13/2003
149. Bluebird 1/13/2003
150. Alone With Everybody 1/1/2004
151. A Smile To Remember 1/3/2003

Comments about Charles Bukowski

  • Ciarli Ling (6/9/2012 6:31:00 AM)

    A very criticized Poet,
    the people must learn that instead of spiting in face of someone big,
    He was an original Poet, to say the things in his own way,
    maybe his Germanic English helped him, okay.

    14 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • Nicole Snyder (5/16/2012 12:20:00 AM)

    I think most of these comments about his writing are off base and annoying. Are any of you even poverty level? Or just sitting in your corner office eating xanax and googling Bukowski and kiddy porn...

  • Nicole Snyder (5/16/2012 12:18:00 AM)

    I'd sit on his face for a while. N.S.

  • Michele Kostelnik Parrillo (9/27/2011 1:59:00 PM)

    Unfortunately most beat writers seem to think exactly as this poem states. I feel that he hit home on this one. No one likes to speak of it but writers sometimes die old and alone or kill them selves. I can feel his pain. Yes, I do relate... but have hope in the next life with Jesus.
    Michele Kostelnik Parrillo His poem Alone with Everybody is so original and suddenly becomes appreciable by certain poets-that walk down unusual paths.

  • Landsley Alexandre (12/9/2009 5:59:00 PM)

    cool and by the way my name is Landsley Alexandre and I was hoping you could read my poems thank you

  • Bryan Alexander (10/19/2009 10:58:00 PM)

    tonight I drink for you.... thanks henry...

  • Davide Nardi (3/27/2009 10:35:00 AM)

    BU Today wrote a wonderful ode to the master of poets:

    http: //www.bu.edu/today/campus-life/2009/03/25/hanging-with-bukowski-gotlieb-center

  • Doren Robbins Doren Robbins (12/13/2008 5:19:00 PM)

    From: “Drinking Wine In The Slaughterhouse With Septuagenarian Stew.” Read the entire essay at dorenrobbins.com. Click under ESSAYS.

    Bukowski’s poems are capable of unpretentiously relating insight with unglamorous epiphanies about the involuntary effects of difficult, unavoidable circumstances that happen in life; some celebrating the experience with humility. Humility that enhances literary style is rare; few writers contain the talent. To survive without adding to the horror is sometimes the best we can do; it is at least an effort that makes sense as a starting point. There is courage, discipline, and cunning in the effort. Finally, what remains after a poet’s survival, which is not an inconsequential matter in our culture—is the art. In the art of Bukowski the most central theme, both comically and tragically, is simply the passion to exist, to take it as it comes and recount what it was all about, and, paradoxically, the butchery done to that passion, and the butchery endured, by humans.


    Doren Robbins, doenrobbins.com

  • Peter Stavropoulos Peter Stavropoulos (11/19/2008 5:51:00 PM)

    There's no escaping it, Bukowski was a genius.

  • Gaitty Ara (9/15/2008 2:44:00 AM)

    A strange poem. if one wants to call it so.. but touching indeed

Best Poem of Charles Bukowski

A Smile To Remember

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, ...

Read the full of A Smile To Remember

Rhyming Poem

the goldfish sing all night with guitars,
and the whores go down with the stars,
the whores go down with the stars

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