Archive for the ‘English’ Category

For The Foxes by Charles Bukowski

don’t feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
“love.”

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don’t feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

Cause and Effect by Charles Bukowski

the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

Finish by Charles Bukowski

We are like roses that have never bothered to 

bloom when we should have bloomed and 

it is as if

the sun has become disgusted with waiting

Don’t Forget By Charles Bukowski

There is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am—
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.

Tonight By Charles Bukowski

Looking back
down the long path
I don’t believe I would have done
anything different.

Alone Again by Charles Bukowski

I think of each of
them
living somewhere else
sitting somewhere else
standing somewhere else
sleeping somewhere else
or maybe feeding a
child
or
reading a
newspaper or screaming
at their
new man…

but thankfully
my female past
(for me)
has concluded
peacefully.

yet most others seem to
believe that a
new relationship will certainly
work.

that the last one
was simply the
error of
choosing a bad
mate.

just
bad taste
bad luck
bad fate.

and then there are some who
believe that old
relationships can be
revived and made new
again.

but please
if you feel that way
don’t phone
don’t write
don’t arrive

and meanwhile,
don’t feel bruised because this
poem will last much
longer than we
did.

it deserves to:
you see
its strength is
that it seeks
no
mate at
all.

Roll The Dice By Charles Bukowski

If you’re going to try, go all the
way.
Otherwise, don’t even start.

If you’re going to try, go all the
way.
This could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

Go all the way.
It could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
It could mean freezing on a
park bench.
It could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
Isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
And you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

If you’re going to try,
go all the way.
There is no other feeling like
that.
You will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

Do it, do it, do it.
Do it.

All the way
All the way.

You will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

Falsely Yours by Charles Bukowski

My dear,

Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all.
Let it cling onto your back
and weigh you down into
eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it
devour your remains.
For all things will kill you,
both slowly and fastly, but
it’s much better to be killed by a lover.

Falsely yours

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do you?

I Can’t Tell by Orhan Veli

If I cry, can you hear my voice,
In my lines;
Can you touch,
My tears, with your hands?
I didn’t know that songs were this beautiful,
Whereas words were this insufficient
Before I had this trouble.
There is a place, I know;
It is possible to say everything;
I am pretty close, I can feel;
I can’t tell.