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Living on Luck
Living on Luck is a collection of letters from the 1960s mixed in with poems and drawings. The ever clever Charles Bukowski fills the pages with his rough exterior and juicy center.
283 pages, Paperback
First published June 5, 1995
34 people are currently reading
821 people want to read
About the author
Charles Bukowski
853 books30k followersHenry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books
Charles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.
Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).
He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
Charles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.
Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).
He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
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November 11, 2015
this was great. a collection of letters in chronological order to a very small group of people with so many quotables that humanize bukowski. these were addressed to his friends, not his enemies, although he rants and raves about his enemies a lot.
definitely got more of an inside scoop with this one than any other bukowski book i've read besides maybe ham on rye. also read a few other books of letters by him but this takes the cake. he is such a character. such a genius.
definitely got more of an inside scoop with this one than any other bukowski book i've read besides maybe ham on rye. also read a few other books of letters by him but this takes the cake. he is such a character. such a genius.
January 8, 2023
“If I never see you again
I will always carry you
inside
outside
on my fingertips
and at brain edges
and in centers
centers
of what I am of
what remains.”
I will always carry you
inside
outside
on my fingertips
and at brain edges
and in centers
centers
of what I am of
what remains.”
August 19, 2023
[𝚃𝚘 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚕 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝]
𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟺
𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝒾𝓈 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 & 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚞𝚙, … 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠-𝚑𝚘𝚠. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝙶𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝟺,𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘?
𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟺
𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝒾𝓈 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 & 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚞𝚙, … 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠-𝚑𝚘𝚠. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝙶𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝟺,𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘?
October 16, 2018
Just a book about a guy getting progressively richer. I like how honest Bukowski is in his letters, his has no regard for who’ll read them. I half think Bukowski intended to lock them up. It got so honest I almost cringed (that whole fiasco with the read haired girl really broke the macho wise old man facade).
The prose is even more loose that it normally is and it makes me more sick. Looks nice and it’s partly practical but I just cant stand it. Im a conservative man when it comes to grammar despite me myself lacking it. Bukowski is absolutely terrible at drawing. His abstract stuff is the kinda shit I hate. Like that painter Pollock who just dump paint on the canvas standing up. Like his prose, it’s too lose, there’s no technique, no discipline. The worst kind of painting. There is some aesthetic to it, is all I can give it props to.
The prose is even more loose that it normally is and it makes me more sick. Looks nice and it’s partly practical but I just cant stand it. Im a conservative man when it comes to grammar despite me myself lacking it. Bukowski is absolutely terrible at drawing. His abstract stuff is the kinda shit I hate. Like that painter Pollock who just dump paint on the canvas standing up. Like his prose, it’s too lose, there’s no technique, no discipline. The worst kind of painting. There is some aesthetic to it, is all I can give it props to.
August 20, 2023
It tells you what to expect. But it’s a roller coaster of difficulty and struggle. Buk mainly just perseveres, satisfying himself with creative output, beer, gambling and complicated relationships.
But his letters can shine. His wit and insight are genuine. Working class, rootsy and inspiring.
He is one of the last human defending libido. It’s barely admitted to today. Our wholesomeness a kind of cowardice at times.
I managed to pick this trilogy up at Paper Nautilus in Providence. One to go. But to be savored.
But his letters can shine. His wit and insight are genuine. Working class, rootsy and inspiring.
He is one of the last human defending libido. It’s barely admitted to today. Our wholesomeness a kind of cowardice at times.
I managed to pick this trilogy up at Paper Nautilus in Providence. One to go. But to be savored.
February 21, 2018
The book can be read over a weekend as it's comical, crass, and beautiful and can be a real page-turner. What I noticed very clearly is how Bukowski wrote, commented, and operated in life is vastly different from later into his life; this book does an excellent job of showing him maturing/grow into another person.
February 28, 2019
For those of us who can relate to a tortured soul, Bukowski's life story will strike a raw nerve. He was blessed with an incredible observational writing skills, but his characters were always this side of social ineptness, and self destructive much like he was in those days. His capacity for the drink was legendary, he was moody and dark but his writing and expression was simply brilliant.
June 17, 2020
A book full of laughter. We rediscover the wit that has been an essential hallmark of the dirty old man and a guiding principle in his relations with people and his craft. The letters are humorous, clever, honest and offer a nice close-up to the life of Bukowski, his thoughts and inspirations. Recommended for any lover of the legendary poet.
January 27, 2024
Not as good as his actual works, lots of letters miss context and some letters are just not interesting yet the poet is there, the wits are there, great title, messy life period of Bukowski who goes from chaotic 70's women to happy luck out with Linda.
February 20, 2022
If you are a poet or a writer struggling with your type of writing, do yourself a favor and read this, gifted me confidence.
As always, Bukowski never disappoints.
As always, Bukowski never disappoints.
March 26, 2023
Its 3.5
May 22, 2024
"I was in a health food store with Linda the other day and there were 3 or 4 lines snaking around and the clerks at the counter were chatting limply with the customers at hand and the customers at hand were chatting limply with the clerks, and even those others waiting didn't sense that time was being mutiliated, that silliness and ineptness were dripping from the walls. There was no fire or motion anywhere. And it just wasn't a physical stagnation, you could sense their wilted cottonball spirits...zeroes giving off horrifying death-rays."
*
"Your stuff is getting better, you are banking your shots in with more ease and laughter -- that way is better because if you are telling the truth it's done without preaching and if you're telling a lie you didn't mean it because you weren't trying."
*
"It seemed to me the man in Camus' Stranger showed more courage than the Hemingway man because his courage was a courage of acceptance rather than defiance."
*
"Every time you say 'good morning' to somebody and you do not mean 'good morning' you are that much less alive. And when you write a poem within the accepted poem-form, making it sound like a poem because a poem is a poem is a poem, you are saying 'good morning' in that poem, and well, your morals are straight and you have not said SHIT, but wouldn't it be wonderful if you could?"
*
"A man's either an artist or a flat tire and what he does need not answer to anything, I'd say, except the energy of his creation. Pure creation will always have its own answer finally, and it will neither be a set of disciplines or undisciplines, it will simply be."
*
"Your stuff is getting better, you are banking your shots in with more ease and laughter -- that way is better because if you are telling the truth it's done without preaching and if you're telling a lie you didn't mean it because you weren't trying."
*
"It seemed to me the man in Camus' Stranger showed more courage than the Hemingway man because his courage was a courage of acceptance rather than defiance."
*
"Every time you say 'good morning' to somebody and you do not mean 'good morning' you are that much less alive. And when you write a poem within the accepted poem-form, making it sound like a poem because a poem is a poem is a poem, you are saying 'good morning' in that poem, and well, your morals are straight and you have not said SHIT, but wouldn't it be wonderful if you could?"
*
"A man's either an artist or a flat tire and what he does need not answer to anything, I'd say, except the energy of his creation. Pure creation will always have its own answer finally, and it will neither be a set of disciplines or undisciplines, it will simply be."
March 26, 2012
Living On Luck. Selected letters 1960's-70's Vol 2
By Charles Bukowski.
I haven't read volume one of these letters yet
and need to find a copy before I do. So I don't
know how they vary from the first volume in terms
of subject matter and quality or in terms of who
they are letters to. But this volume concentrates
mainly on letters to his various publishers and
translators, which therefore means that there is
a lot of talk about the mechanics of his
publishing deals with black sparrow press and
City Lights and various european publishers and
magazines etc, and how the flow of money affects
Charles life as he goes from struggling author
and full time barfly and postman to full time
writer, but as the letters are chronological
suddenly he won't do a poetry reading for less
than $500 plus flights, and he can't believe he
can actually afford to buy his own house to help
offset his tax liability, all the while he is
selling book after book and sales of 70,000 is
not unusual as he writes poems up to a 100 a
month, then of course there is the inevitable
booze and women to contend with and add to the
mix so that this ends up as more or less a novel
as much as a series of letters.
For any fans of Bukowski this is as essential as
any of his other novels.
By Charles Bukowski.
I haven't read volume one of these letters yet
and need to find a copy before I do. So I don't
know how they vary from the first volume in terms
of subject matter and quality or in terms of who
they are letters to. But this volume concentrates
mainly on letters to his various publishers and
translators, which therefore means that there is
a lot of talk about the mechanics of his
publishing deals with black sparrow press and
City Lights and various european publishers and
magazines etc, and how the flow of money affects
Charles life as he goes from struggling author
and full time barfly and postman to full time
writer, but as the letters are chronological
suddenly he won't do a poetry reading for less
than $500 plus flights, and he can't believe he
can actually afford to buy his own house to help
offset his tax liability, all the while he is
selling book after book and sales of 70,000 is
not unusual as he writes poems up to a 100 a
month, then of course there is the inevitable
booze and women to contend with and add to the
mix so that this ends up as more or less a novel
as much as a series of letters.
For any fans of Bukowski this is as essential as
any of his other novels.
January 13, 2015
It is always the matter, whatever it is.
Just as always, Bukowski won't disturb you so much as when you set yourself apart from the world and you take up the agonies, the bluesberry pain, the simple Heidegger-short gossips, the slants, the insanities, tiny scoundrel atrocities, and et al; and, laying yourself backward on a rusted cot, you wonder that your elbows feel viscerally out of sorts, that the dog scrutinizing the failing lilac scrawns just below the windowpane belongs more to the world of God than the world of man: your reasoning - that we do not place flatly the dogs of the world onto horizontal stone cairns and attempt to worry their soft bodies with the zealous end of a paring instrument. Or you wonder that, in point of fact, often that happens just the same; but perhaps not in your little wedge between ocean, tree, hyssop, flag, bee, etc., and so forth.
Poetry for Bukowski is what happens in those pretty divisions that come into the flesh / bone and palaver for a while, and in those portions, the poems grow like hickory smoke of Chanel Miracle or charnal hangover; all dependent, of course, on the sway, the angle of the Muse, the luck, the gimmick that just is and might not be again: all of that pith and piss, baby.
Just as always, Bukowski won't disturb you so much as when you set yourself apart from the world and you take up the agonies, the bluesberry pain, the simple Heidegger-short gossips, the slants, the insanities, tiny scoundrel atrocities, and et al; and, laying yourself backward on a rusted cot, you wonder that your elbows feel viscerally out of sorts, that the dog scrutinizing the failing lilac scrawns just below the windowpane belongs more to the world of God than the world of man: your reasoning - that we do not place flatly the dogs of the world onto horizontal stone cairns and attempt to worry their soft bodies with the zealous end of a paring instrument. Or you wonder that, in point of fact, often that happens just the same; but perhaps not in your little wedge between ocean, tree, hyssop, flag, bee, etc., and so forth.
Poetry for Bukowski is what happens in those pretty divisions that come into the flesh / bone and palaver for a while, and in those portions, the poems grow like hickory smoke of Chanel Miracle or charnal hangover; all dependent, of course, on the sway, the angle of the Muse, the luck, the gimmick that just is and might not be again: all of that pith and piss, baby.
October 14, 2011
This isn't my favorite collection of Bukowski's letters, but it isn't bad. It is certainly a better read than his letters to Sheri Martinelli. Those ones were just to inside his and Martinelli's heads to really make a great deal of sense. Like listening to inside joke after inside joke. I'm rambling though. I may have liked other volumes of these letters better than this particular one, but this one wasn't the worst either. Good for a read.
March 14, 2008
His letters will win you an occasional chuckle.
July 27, 2013
like buk's poetry, moments: great vast burning moments, lines, gorgeous fat catches amidst the continual cast and reel and slow slap of the placid lake.
March 28, 2015
Briefe:
Interessanter einblick in diesen Lebensabschnitt seines lebens
Interessanter einblick in diesen Lebensabschnitt seines lebens
April 2, 2022
Letters from the 60's and 70's. It gives insight into Hank's struggle to survive as a writer and his departure from the stability from the post office.
February 11, 2009
If you love Buk, you must read the letters.
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