Notes of a Dirty Old Man

This is the one that made me think Bukowski wasn't just another pretentious scruffy looking poet-writer. And the impression it made on me was inestimable. It was the same reaction I had when I read those other `notes' from that other 'sky, the man himself, Fyodor Dostoevsky. It was a shock to know that there were other people in the world who had thoughts like mine... that life was mixed, nothing was cut and dried, muddled, beauty was touched with horror, love was tainted with hate and other passions that would sometimes lead to actual murder and that it wasn't that bull shown in the movies, society wasn't as rational and good as I was told, that there was always something awful under the surface of things, that God could be dead, that I was full of contradictions and instincts which had the power to overtake me -and perhaps the whole of humanity was afflicted with the same inconsistent nature, that there seem to be no meaning to life (with or without religion) and the universe was a blind absurdity, everything shocked me, and on and on... but in the center of all this was the fact that I was living, that I had the ability to feel and the power to say no. The world seen through Bukowski's eyes is a terrible and beautiful place at the same time. The whores, the drinking binges, the alley fights and the insanity of the man of the streets is a life lived at its most direct and extreme. It is life uncluttered by the niceties and civilities of the numbed life most of us, under the confines of comfy blankets, PC's, cell phones, the latest fashions, million channel TV, etc., lead. It is a life I myself experienced for twenty five years, and at times it is still a preferable life to me than the desensitizing one I may live today. So in a sense Bukowski `celebrates' life and not wholly -wholly- leaves us a portrait of self destruction and nihilism. This is a POSSIBLE life, he seems to say to me, this is a life I've lived and lived it the way I wanted -at least the way I saw fit for a man in my position: ugly, poor, abused, disenfranchised. And I agree.

Hey Charley I'm pregnant and living on 9th street Above a dirty bookstore Off Euclid avenue I stopped taking dope I quit drinking whiskey My old man plays the trombone And works out at the track He says that he loves me Even though its not his baby He says that he'll raise him up Like he would his own son He gave me a ring That was worn by his mother And he takes me out dancin Every saturday night Hey Charley I think about you Everytime I pass a fillin' station On account of all the grease You used to wear in your hair I still have that record Little Anthony and the Imperials But someone stole my record player How do you like that? Hey Charley I almost went crazy After mario got busted I went back to Omaha To live with my folks Everyone I used to know Is either dead or in prison So I came back to Minneapolis This time I think I'm gonna stay Hey Charley I think I'm happy The first time since my accident Wish I had all the money We used to spend on dope I'd buy me a used car lot I wouldn't sell any of 'em I'd just drive a different car Depending on how I feel Hey Charley for chrissakes Wanna to know the truth of it? Don't have a husband He don't play the trombone Need to borrow money To pay this lawyer And Charley, hey I'll be eligible for parole Come valentines day -Not that anyone would notice, but you sit in your dingy apartment reading this collection, the light coming from a single lamp with no shade, certain thoughts come to mind. You realize many, many things and come to an understanding and an appreciation of things that I think many people either never do, or either are in constant denial of. That's a constant theme with Buk, I think. Hell, I don't know and I'm dam* sure no deep-thinker about such things. But, the bottom line is that Buk, like Tom Waits, can never do wrong. Never. Ignore anyone that says otherwise or tries to come off with some, "Well, this isn't his greatest work..." or the...."this is inferior Buk." That's all absolute garbage and all of those individuals who make such statements - combined - could not produce in a lifetime, anything of such beauty that Buk produced in a day. Period. Get this, treasure it, cherish it and you will understand.

This is essential a collection of works Bukowski wrote for a column. As such it reads like a collection of short stories. It's a good book to keep beside the crapper, especially if you are expecting a visit from your in-laws. Very frank writing of the dark side of life: sex, drugs, alcohol - the good stuff! I love Bukowski's style. If you are easily offended by dirty words and candid talk of sexual deviancy I highly recommend you read this book (or just about anything else Bukowski has written) and get over your hang-ups. It's just a book!

Some consider Charles Bukowski overrated... some think of him as an unhearalded genius. This collection falls somewhere in the middle. Initially I read this book ravenously, and fell in love with about half of the stories. Since then I have revisited it with a bit more care, and I continue to fine amazing beauty in the way Buk Takes jagged, rusty words and puts them together with duct tape to create these urban scenes. The greats could never have done this, None of them knew LA. This book seems to do the imposible. At once it honors the city of angels with an incredibly accurate rendering of what LA is, and it makes you hate the city all the more for the same reason. This is a great place to start reading Bukowski.