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Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Crucifix In A Deathhand

Rating: 2.7
yes, they begin out in a willow, I think
the starch mountains begin out in the willow
and keep right on going without regard for
pumas and nectarines
somehow these mountains are like
an old woman with a bad memory and
a shopping basket.
we are in a basin. that is the
idea. down in the sand and the alleys,
this land punched-in, cuffed-out, divided,
held like a crucifix in a deathhand,
this land bought, resold, bought again and
sold again, the wars long over,
the Spaniards all the way back in Spain
down in the thimble again, and now
real estaters, subdividers, landlords, freeway
engineers arguing. this is their land and
I walk on it, live on it a little while
near Hollywood here I see young men in rooms
listening to glazed recordings
and I think too of old men sick of music
sick of everything, and death like suicide
I think is sometimes voluntary, and to get your
hold on the land here it is best to return to the
Grand Central Market, see the old Mexican women,
the poor . . . I am sure you have seen these same women
many years before
arguing
with the same young Japanese clerks
witty, knowledgeable and golden
among their soaring store of oranges, apples
avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers -
and you know how
these
look, they do look good
as if you could eat them all
light a cigar and smoke away the bad world.
then it's best to go back to the bars, the same bars
wooden, stale, merciless, green
with the young policeman walking through
scared and looking for trouble,
and the beer is still bad
it has an edge that already mixes with vomit and
decay, and you've got to be strong in the shadows
to ignore it, to ignore the poor and to ignore yourself
and the shopping bag between your legs
down there feeling good with its avocados and
oranges and fresh fish and wine bottles, who needs
a Fort Lauderdale winter?
25 years ago there used to be a whore there
with a film over one eye, who was too fat
and made little silver bells out of cigarette
tinfoil. the sun seemed warmer then
although this was probably not
true, and you take your shopping bag
outside and walk along the street
and the green beer hangs there
just above your stomach like
a short and shameful shawl, and
you look around and no longer
see any
old men.
Charles Bukowski
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COMMENTS
Bernard F. Asuncion 13 January 2019
A marvelous poem by Charles Bukowski......................
0 0 Reply
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Mr.difance 13 January 2019
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0 0 Reply
Anil Kumar Panda 13 January 2019
A great poem by a great poet. Thanks for sharing.
0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 13 January 2019
In a willow! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
0 0 Reply
Tom Allport 13 January 2019
An observational poem written a while ago yet nothing really changes? The poor are still poor and the mountains still cry?
0 0 Reply
Mark Arvizu 06 October 2015
Charles, you need to spend some time out of the city.Head out to the track in Arcadia. Spend some time looking at Mt. Wilson. It's free you know.
1 0 Reply
Souren Mondal 03 February 2016
A fine advice Mark.. Unfortunately Bukowski died in 1994, about 22 years ago.. It would be hard for him to follow your advice...
0 0 Reply
Martin O'Neill 10 February 2012
This observation of the humdrum, the amazing perception of the life teeming all around and the feeling of being there with Buk is why I love his work.
4 1 Reply

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