Poetry on Fridays

There are many who will not understand Charles Butowski's poetry. This is what he had to say about it:
"My contribution", he wrote in 1974, "was to loosen and simplify poetry, to make it more human... I taught them that you can write a poem the same way you can write a letter, that a poem can even be entertaining, and that there need not be anything necessarily holy about it."

fire station
(for Jane, with love)

we came out of the bar
because we were out of money
but we had a couple of wine bottles
in the room.

it was about 4 in the afternoon
and we passed a fire station
and she started to go
crazy:

"a FIRE STATION! oh, I just love
FIRE engines, they're so red and
all! let's go in!"

I followed her on
in. "FIRE ENGINES!" she screamed
wobbling her big
ass.

she was already trying to climb into
one, pulling her skirt up to her
waist, trying to jacknife up into the
seat.

"here, here, lemme help ya!" a fireman ran up.

amother fireman walked up to
me: "our citizens are always welcome,"
he told me.

the other guy was up in the seat with
her. "you got one of those big THINGS?"
she asked him. "oh, hahaha!, I mean one of
those big HELMETS!"

"I've got a big helmet, too" he told
her.

"oh, hahaha!"

"you play cards?" I asked my
fireman. I had 43 cents and nothing but
time.

"come in back," he
said. "of course, we don't gamble.
it's against the
rules."

"I understand," I told
him.

I had run my 43 cents up to a
dollar ninety
when I saw her going upstairs with
her fireman.

"he's gonna show me their sleeping
quarters," she told
me.

"I understand," I told
her.

when her fireman slid down the pole
ten minutes later
I nodded him
over.

"that'll be 5
dollars."

"5 dollars for
that?"

"we wouldn't want a scandal, would
we? we both might lose our
jobs. of course, I'm not
working."

he gave me the
5.

"sit down, you might get it
back."

whatcha playing?"
"blackjack."

"gambling's against the
law."

"anything interesting is, besides,
you see any money on the
table?"
he sat down.

that made 5 of
us.

"how was it Harry?" somebody asked
him.

"not bad, not
bad"

the other guy went on
upstairs.

they were bad players really.
they didn't bother to memorize the
deck. they didn't know whether the
high numbers or low numbers were left. and basically they hit too high,
didn't hold low
enough.

when the other guy came down
he gave me a
five.

"how was it, Marty?"
"not bad. she's got . . . some fine
movements."

"hit me!" I said. "nice clean girl, I
ride it myself."

nobody said
anything.

"any big fires lately?" I
asked.

"naw. nothin'
much."

"you guys need
exercise. hit me
again!"

a big red-headed kid who had been shining an
engine
threw down his rag and
went upstairs.

when he came down he threw me a
five.

when the 4th guy came down I gave him
3 fives for a
twenty.

I don't know how many firemen
were in the building or where they
were. I figured a few had slipped by me
but I was a good
sport.

it was getting dark outside
when the alarm
rang.

they started running around.
guys came sliding down the
pole.

then she came sliding down the
pole. she was good with the
pole. a real woman. nothing but guts
and
ass.

"let's go," I told
her.

she stood there waving goodbye to the
firemen but they didn't seem
much interested
any more.

"let's go back to the
bar," I told
her.

"ooh, you got
money?"

"I found some I didn't know I
had. . ."

we sat at the end of the bar
with whiskey and beer
chaser.
"I sure got a good
sleep."

"sure, baby, you need your
sleep."

"look at that sailor looking at me!
he must think I'm a ...a ..."

"naw, he don't think that. relax, you've got
class. real class. sometimes you remind me of an
opera singer. you know, one of those prima d's.
your class shows all over
you. drink
up."

I ordered 2
more.

"you know, daddy, you're the only man I
LOVE! I mean, really...LOVE! ya
know?"

"sure I know. sometimes I think I am a king
in spite of myself."

"yeah. yeah. that's what I mean, somethin' like
that."

I had to go to the urinal. when I came back
the sailor was sitting in my
seat. she had her leg up against his and
he was talking.

I walked over and got in a dart game with
Harry the Horse and the corner
newsboy.

Charles Bukowski

Poetry takes many forms to many people. To me it's about putting power in the words. Salute, Charles. Special thanks to my friend Mark who has been showering me with Bukowski poems this past week. Would you like one more? Go on, you know you do. Okay, just a short one.

when you're young
a pair of
female
high-heeled shoes
just sitting
alone
in the closet
can fire your
bones;
when you're old
it's just
a pair of shoes
without
anybody
in them
and
just as
well.

Charles Bukowski


Oh, yeah. Cats. Say hi, Beau.



Be at peace, dear friends, be at peace.