A different kind of irony, perhaps…?
…is the irony of a poem that on it’s surface is hopeless, yet you finish it and get an odd feeling of confidence, and you’re smiling.
What does this Bukowski poem do for you?
The Blackbirds Are Rough Today
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail—
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere—
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school—
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don’t be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
Charles Bukowski
After posting that, I read it and it was like the first time….so much there…
“Charlie” is dead.
September 30th, 2011 at 3:38 am
It’s a good poem but I think Charlie needs to get out of the city before he eats a bullet.
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September 30th, 2011 at 4:36 am
Buk, I can’t help but see some Depression era stuff here that reeks of dry times and dry hopes. It has a bit of that Woody Guthrie tinge to it. Some WW2 veteran references maybe.
Folk poetry almost. Very deep, very sad, powerful yet stark.
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September 30th, 2011 at 5:37 am
I won’t go in to the first time I read Hank….I did not write for almost 2 months…the playing field gets equaled every time I read this
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September 30th, 2011 at 6:37 am
Q1) What does this poem do for me? Between this one and the prior one posted, they have given me enough reading material for the rest of the week, and weekend, too. I feel like someone took a spoon from a pot of spaghetti sauce, wafted it in front of my nose, and my appetite is churning to eat the pot and be sated. I must devour!
Q2) Irony? On two levels, the surface irony at first blanch it that he paints such a bleak picture, yet (though I know he was an atheist) the line of “I guess God meant it all” to ME gives me a feeling that he is resigning to a higher power who has it all in control.
Level 2 irony: That he can take words that make you think he is saying one thing, then like a car wreck, with one more word, the reader suffers whip lash, he spins the meaning around so quickly.
I’ll stop here, but I could go on!!!!
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September 30th, 2011 at 7:36 am
” why do we go on with our minds and our pockets full of dust”
because we must
nobody ever said it would be just
I am not ashamed.
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September 30th, 2011 at 8:35 am
it is a good poem. the only thought that came to my mind, i don’t know why, was the beatles song that said,” black birds singing in the dead of night. black birds fly”.
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September 30th, 2011 at 9:37 am
Black
birds
fly
while
children
die
sorrow knows no reason
nor a time nor a season
black
birds
cry
while
dreamers
sigh
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September 30th, 2011 at 11:36 am
a journey to some,
an adventure to others
doors are meant to be opened,
but you have to have the key
some have to be kicked open.
or it could mean that heckyl and jeckyl will crap on your car if you park under their nest. i agree so much there.
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September 30th, 2011 at 1:36 pm
I see “down and out” turns “state of utmost bliss” . Like a Jazz song.
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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September 30th, 2011 at 3:37 pm
We could all be” on fire like old dry garbage” at any point in that life can change on a dime..Bukowski is now on my wish list from Santa.
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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September 30th, 2011 at 5:35 pm
Life is irony. The beauty of his poetry is that he never whines. Do you see that readers who never read poetry at all are analyzing Bukowski’s poetry? He does not tell; he shows. This is the mark of a true poet. And you are a born teacher!
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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September 30th, 2011 at 8:36 pm
You have introduced me to another poet I had not heard of before Y!A and I am grateful. You’re right, it does leave a lifted feeling behind.
The more I read of his work the more I see similarities/influences(?) in Waits’ work from the seventies.
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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September 30th, 2011 at 11:37 pm
It’s very sad but also very true. He was a great writer.
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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October 1st, 2011 at 3:37 am
I have saved this and plan to read it every day for a while. I have a feeling this will be one of those that is fresh and new with each reading. thanks for sharing it.
My mind, and
- recent studies of Bukowski, Jazz and “Beat Authors”.
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