I'll buy a French horn and a tame eagle... I will read about Dylan and DH until my eyes fall out of my head... " ...I love this man's poetry! Damn!
@ThaSoloist7 жыл бұрын
eagle meat
@nemesis53411 жыл бұрын
He was an angel
@helenclare12072 жыл бұрын
Agreed.
@johnbroadway41964 жыл бұрын
Charles Had nothing but the working Man truth.
@quantumastrologer55994 жыл бұрын
They don't make poets like this anymore...
@ouderland12 жыл бұрын
i luv this old man.
@travisroth6706 жыл бұрын
Holy fuck! this is hiphop before hiphop punk before punk! Shelley on weed & life in raw!!!!!
@ronlafferty615 жыл бұрын
Epic Bukowski Great reading
@hippydippy4 жыл бұрын
Just an incredible "Thought of Consciousness"... Another tortured artist.
@danandersen8133 жыл бұрын
life is who gets the best feeling, and for the most time possible, often it's bout who gets laid the best
@danandersen8133 жыл бұрын
misery makes good poems, I think
@readmelancholystrumpetmaster9 жыл бұрын
I swear, I think this is his best poem ever, even better than "Dinosauria We."
@cdream54147 жыл бұрын
"another puke being born" --- how true
@gordonm70386 жыл бұрын
One of his best.
@theonondaga11 жыл бұрын
miss you dearly hank
@jonnylevy1181 Жыл бұрын
Hmm mister Charles thanks for convincing me it’s ok to be crazy after all 😂
@SupernovaFilms2310 жыл бұрын
Love is displacing the Bukowskis. But we still exist. Oh yes, We exist. And we are loving now.
@perulove905 жыл бұрын
At times
@teresaboze694 жыл бұрын
All that was wanted, really.
@eraproductions99237 жыл бұрын
bloody genius what truly horrible lives indeed pmsl
@313Valentine6 жыл бұрын
the life of a writer is far from glamorous. but in the end...it is the writers best muse. the suffering becomes orchestrated, the tones manipulated through past feelings.
@mrmtn374 жыл бұрын
That Chinaski his writing is a helluva Paris
@PreviouslyUnseen3 жыл бұрын
The man.
@erikzetterstrom15212 жыл бұрын
Angelic warrior
@ThexHoneyBadger5 жыл бұрын
BIM BIM BIM
@stellaercolani38104 жыл бұрын
Some of the best artists were/are addicts.
@ChilliCheezdog5 жыл бұрын
How did he drink so much and write so much and still make time for the track?
@alfogel32984 жыл бұрын
He usually wrote between 1AM to 6 AM. He was disciplined and dedicated and wrote poems, short stories, letters ( I had a 28 letter correspondence) essays, novels. Paintings. He started to write prolifically from 1955 to the time of his death in 1994-almost 40 years and almost every night. And drank and screwed. You can accomplish quite a lot when you write every day for 40 years. Al
@ChilliCheezdog4 жыл бұрын
@@alfogel3298 I became a fan in 1993. I like to think my investment in his writing bought him a beer before he passed. Hank is my guru. He's always there for me. What did he leave you with, Al? What I mean to say... Was there a single message that came through to you from his corresponence?
@rajbhattacharya44273 жыл бұрын
It's an internal impetus. If you have to try, you're not cut for the gig. It's a drive that doesn't require profit or praise to need to fulfill oneself.
@justinedse33142 жыл бұрын
@@alfogel3298 Wait, are you implying that you sent letters back and forth with Bukowski?
@peterlloyd9310 жыл бұрын
SalParadise1947 I have your comment on the grocery store written on a piece of paper somewhere but I can't remember how it got there. Is it a Bukowski quote ? Been wondering where it came from.
@INNO2222 жыл бұрын
HANKY-PANKY!
@NORMLduder13 жыл бұрын
4:11 perfect sunday
@brasero200004 жыл бұрын
Where is it taken from ? Is there a long version of this lecture?
@wapartist5 жыл бұрын
Gotta have a French Horn
@horsedfedbuffalo2512 жыл бұрын
oh there is
@drewwechsler78605 жыл бұрын
Enoch. Lost prophet. Reincarnation of Job.
@rosafiammante50274 жыл бұрын
Went to the sky in flesh and bones like Mary did.
@GreyOatmeal9 ай бұрын
Go get the meat Buk
@Thel0wsandhighs2 жыл бұрын
I have lain in bed all day but I have written one poem and I am up now looking out the window and like a novelist might say drunk: the clouds are coming at me like scullery maids with dishpans in their hands- something that holds gritty dirty water. but I am a drunken non-novelist but in clear condition now here sits the bottle of beer and I am warmly thinking in a kind of foam-shaped idle fancy working closely but all I can stoke up are squares and circles which do not fit; so messeigneurs I will tell you the truth: again (in bed) I read another article on D. Thomas & some day I will get lucky and sit around and own a French horn and a tame eagle and I will sit on the porch all day a white porch always in the sun one of those white porches with green vines all around, and I will read about Dylan and D.H. until my eyes fall out of my head for eagle meat and I will play the French horn blind. but even now it gets darker the evening thing into night the bones down here the stars up there somebody rattling the springs in Denver so another pewker can be born. I think everything is a sheet of sun and the best of everything is myself walking through it wondering about the pure nerve of the life-thing going on: after the jails the hospitals the factories the good dogs the brainless butterflies. but now I am back at the window there is an opera on the radio and a woman sits in a chair to my left saying over and over again: BRATCH BRATSHT BRAATCHT! and she is holding a book in her hand: How to Learn Russian Easily. but there is really nothing you can do easily: live or die or accept fame or money or defeat, it’s all hard. the opera says this, the dead birds the dead countries the dead loves the man shot because somebody thought it was an elk the elk shot because somebody thought it was an elk. all the pure nerve of going on this woman wanting to speak Russian myself wanting to get drunk but we need something to eat. GRIND CAT GRIND MEAT says the woman in Russian so I figure she’s hungry, we haven’t eaten in a couple of hours. CLAM BAYONET TURKEY PORK AND PORK she says, and I walk over and put on my pants and I am going out to get something. the forests are far away and I am no good with the bow and arrow and somebody signs on the radio: ”farewell, foolish objects.” and all I can do is walk into a grocery store and pull out a wallet and hope that it’s loaded. and this is about how I waste my Sundays. the rest of the week gets better because there is somebody telling me what to do and although it seems madness almost everybody is doing it whatever it is. so now if you will excuse me (she is eating an orange now) I will put on my shoes and shirt and get out of here-it’ll be better for all of us.}
@rolfkempf12 жыл бұрын
Took me many years to discover I was not Bukowski; not for the lack of trying. Probably a good thing, but sometimes I'm not so sure.
@cassiusdio11386 жыл бұрын
just suffer more.. make a zen pursuit of the acceptance and appreciate of pain
@tothejazz48285 жыл бұрын
foolish objix...
@admiralgoodboy6 жыл бұрын
Meh
@panatypical7 жыл бұрын
I'd like him better if he didn't drink. Alcohol is such a shitty drug.
@coreycox23457 жыл бұрын
It seems such an integral part of him. I love some of his work, but he would not have been much fun to live with.
@jonnylevy1181 Жыл бұрын
@@coreycox2345I don’t disagree but what if he replaced alcohol with ketamine. A whole different animal!! But still interesting 🤨 and therapeutic too. Albeit not without physical threats. ❤. Not advocating just throwing the idea out there 🎉