"my poems are raw like the guts of a catfish cut open...words are all right as words but never let them get in the way" A collection of poems written between 1970 and 1990 and part of an archive Bukowski left to be published posthumously after his death. As a result, their authenticity is intensified. His usual themes loiter: alcoholism, womanising, horseracing and piercing cynicism, yet as always rings true with Bukowski's work - there are cracks through which slip moments of overwhelming tende...

sometimes we are given something extra by the gods and we don't know it at the time. I look back now, I look back at that kidand I'm glad it was me, the gods up therelaughing and urging me on, having such a god-damnedgood time about itall,me in the small room, running that pen across the paper,no automobile, no woman, no job, no food, just wine and ink and paper, the door closed, my mind running along theedge of the ceiling,along the edge of thenight sky, I just didn't know any better and I did....

look there.the one you considered killing yourself for.you saw her the other daygetting out of her carin the Safeway parking lot.she was wearing a torn greendress and old dirtybootsher face raw with living.she saw youso you walked overand spoke and thenlistened.her hair did not glistenher eyes and her conversation were dull.where was she?where had she gone?the one you were going to kill yourself for?Why is it that the sane, the rich and the successful always know so much less than the mad or the...

This collection of Bukowski’s poetry is part of a collection of work that he left behind to be published after his death, which actually opens it up to a whole new possibility. Regardless of how much he never gave a shit about what people thought about him, I’m pretty sure that every human being has some level of self-preservation. There’s a natural instinct not to share certain things because you know that it could change the way people look at you. But if you’re leaving poems behind to be publ...

"up all night drinking miller high life convincing myself it doesn't matter"you don't need my words to tell you what tothink. you don'tneed hiseither.but his arebetter.

“ the lair of the hunted is hidden in the last place you’d ever look and even if you find it you won’t believe it’s really there in much the same way as the average person will not believe a great painting. “

I didn't really expect to like these poems because, I dunno, womanizing and horse-racing and ampersands aren't really my jam. I also lived in LA for a while and it was gross. And yet, these poems are amazing.

Another Bukowski anthology. His work gets me everytime, there is hardly a collection that doesn't have a ton of poems I can identify with.

Great! Stupendous! Mind-blowing! Do I need to say anything else? Oh yeah. If you haven't read Bukowski you are not fully alive.

This is more of a 4.9 than a 5 star book, but still worthwhile stuff from the much missed Charles Bukowski. For those of you new to Buk, here he is:Think of him as uncomfortably numb to the point where he has to share this with the world -- or at least with his typewriter.I have to be honest here -- this is not Bukowski's best poetry collection. This one gets repetitive and yet scatterbrained at times. This is one of the many poetry collections that came out after Buk died. I would love to know

Before the review know this book was actually more of a 4.8. Though a fan of Bukowski, I began reading this book with trepidation. It was published posthumously. This usually means with was an assortment of works that were not chosen for publication during his lifetime. This is usually a bad sign. This work however was bits and pieces that Bukowski chose himself. As I began to read the words leapt off the page filled with a vibrancy and rhythm lacking from some of his later works. The majority o...

Published after his death, so always the question of whether inclusion and editing were done with or with out his approval...but no worries, all is quality stuff from the master. And surprisingly, after his usual literary flame-throwing, Bukowski seems slightly uplifting in some of these, which were written around the time of his imminent death from leukemia.

Masterful. Bukowski wields the pen like no other and his words fall in peculiar fashion on the page: slowly at first, then all at once. Reading this collection will not only immerse you in pure poetry - it will make you drown in it.

I laughed through most of this. Bukowski is a dark, hilarious genius.

Felt like the poems were lukewarm. Not a favorite.

Covering hookers horses and boozing

Personal favorites in no particular order:This is a factTo Jane Cooney Baker, died 1-22-62

last faves (check out my previous updates for the others)SchubertAs much as I hate to use the "f" word

I remembered almost 3 years ago, a friend asked why I liked Bukowski so much, while he couldn't even finish reading one Buk's poem. I told him I liked Buk because he presented the world around him as it is. All is not sunny in this reality and that's okay. Most of the times, reality is dirty (just like his genre: dirty realism) but that's totally fine. With a lil bit of humor, we will pass it gracefully. That's how I see his poems.My favourite poem in this collection is Yes, I am. He could be ro...

Some people don't read poetry . . . not a poetry book on their Goodreads review page. But then we can also consider this: on my last review, a poetry book, The Collected Longer Poems of Kenneth Rexroth . . . my review was the third (3rd) review of that book on Goodreads, published far before Bukowski's, while the Bukowski has 21 reviews . . . Is Bukowski more accessible? Followed by . . . whatever that means. I was always a little skeptical of the Bukowski cult, though I have come to appreciate

some of my favorite poems from this fine collection."this is a fact"in the company of foolswe relax uponordinary embankments,enjoy bad food, cheapdrink,mingle with the men andladies fromhell.in the company of foolswe throw days away likepaper napkins.in this companyour music is loud and ourlaughteruntrue.we have nothing to losebut our selves.join us.we are nowalmostthe entireworld.God bless us."stark dead"pretentious pap smeared on sanctified wallsagain and againuntil almost everybody believes i...

It's always difficult with a posthumous collection (especially poetry) to know how close to the author's original intent the published work actually is. I've read something to the effect that Black Sparrow changed things quite a bit from the originals when publishing these works, but what I'd say is that this collection could have been so much more by just being a little bit less - there are easily 50 pages of straight up "filler" here, pieces that read like a journal entry with line breaks more...

"stark dead"pretentious pap smeared on sanctified wallsagain and againuntil almost everybody believes it isviable.affectations of the centuries accepted as Art.beware the textbooks, beware the libraries,beware the galleries,beware the father and the teacher.beware the mother.we are born into a civilization which is stunnedby overwhelming mediocrity.what is placed before us is artifice, anillusion, a lie.the womb has spilled us into a sewer.new gods are needed.new doors must be opened.we have wai...

Bukowski's raw and raunchy poetic ramblings about his drunken, prostitute-filled life on skid row LA is the opposite of what I thought I'd ever like. He tells it like it is and does not candy coat. His repulsive life style is redeemed with his many ode's to his one true love, Jane. For me, one who will hopefully never live the life that Bukowski writes about, I actually enjoy taking a mental romp down those harrowing streets and living for a few poems that dirty life, relishing the feeling that

My favourite one:Stark deadpretentious pap smeared onsanctifiedwallsagain and againuntil almost everybody believes it is viableaffectations of the centuriesacceptedas Art.beware the textbooks, beware the libraries,beware the galleries,beware the mother.we are born into a civilization which is stunned by overwhelmingmediocrity.what is placed before us is artifice,an illusion, a lie.the womb has spilled us into asewer.new gods are needed.new doors must be opened.we have waited so long for so littl...

I was obsessed by reading Bukowski.I want to read more. Sometimes thepoems are not great but it is Buk's tellingof many manly situations in his alternative egoChinski that keeps me reading more. Is it great literture, not really but it is Fun to read yes. This one reminds of all night diners inNorth Jersey especially Tick TOck diner in Clifton. but Charles' location is LA,where the race track and is his mileu. A funny book

This is one of favorite collections by Bukowski, Beer Bottle Blow being one of my favorite poems:She put the gunback into herpurseand walked away downthe streetjust in herpanties.the cops didn't findherthat nightor the next orthe next.where can a woman gobuilt like 33 brick shithousesdressed just in herpanties?

I try to take a Buk book on vacation with me. This one traveled to England and I felt like he was along for the ride. Enough positive words to keep me going, enough negative words to make me know I wasn't the only one dealing with messed up stuff. The last poems are from when he was dying and they are painful to read but the fact he never quit writing amkes me want to write.

A collection of unpublished poems published by Linda in another shameless attempt to cash in on her deceased husband's legacy. Still a great read, as the well of Hank's notes runs dry you find work in the posthumous books that is familiar. If he left a coma out of something it will be republished as "new" sooner or later.

These are the poems left behind and for a reason. Though there are glimpses from time to time of a strong metaphor or an amazing story, often the ends fall flat. As much as I love Bukowski, this book would be much better left unpublished.