often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
Me. Few wrods. Words that beg your potential. A good photo. No words. lots of those voices. But no major but. No stopping. just take the photo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Writing by Charles Bukowski in its entirety: often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink, no woman's love, no wealth can match it. nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing. the hordes from closing in. it blasts the darkness. writing is the ultimate psychiatrist, the kindliest god of all the gods. writing stalks death. it knows no quit. and writing laughs at itself, at pain. it is the last expectation, the last explanation. that's what it is.