CHARLES BUKOWSKI PORTIONS FROM A WINE-STAINED NOTEBOOK PDF

Shelves: classics-read , books-i-own , reviews , read-in-serbian , This is as clean as it gets this is the collection of short stories, essays and other short writings from Bukowski: its very simple and very effective. I have been reading his work since I was a teen, so I was about or around that age. I knew nothing really. But I had a will to learn and I learned from the books I read, at the period his books had helped me be more free than I was in a sense to always keep my thoughts simple and how little it takes to make me full. But I had a will to learn and I learned from the books I read, at the period his books had helped me be more free than I was — in a sense to always keep my thoughts simple and how little it takes to make me full.

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Rodger Jacobs 13 Nov Fear, one must understand, is the lubricant that keeps the wheels of human progress greased. Charles Bukowski understood this concept all too well. Did George W. Bush, the 43rd President of the United States, preside over a nation motivated by fear, or was he an agent of fear? Meanwhile, Saddam Hussein, a supporter of worldwide terror, was engaging in ethnic cleansing in Iraq and stockpiling weapons of mass destruction; once again, it was imperative to throw tanks and guns and troops at the problem.

Ullman and James P. Wade, the use of overwhelming power, dominant battlefield awareness, dominant maneuvers and spectacular displays of force to scare the living crap out of the enemy and destroy their willingness to fight. In a word: fear. Bush and his Federal Reserve and US Treasury stooges urgently pushed for a multi-billion dollar bailout of ailing US financial institutions to avoid wide scale bank failures, even more home foreclosures, the dissolution of Social Security and Medicare, a return to bread and soup lines and, presumably, riots in the streets, martial law, and the inevitable reunion of Tony Orlando and Dawn to soothe our frayed nerves.

On the surface of it, all of the above may seem like dark Karl Rove-inspired fear mongering to provoke a desired response but fear, one must understand, is the lubricant that keeps the wheels of human progress greased.

In , at the age of 24, young Bukowski found himself far from his beloved Los Angeles. But they liked me. Which was wrong — a good foreman is a man you fear. The entire world functions on fear. Yet, I feel that my work has said other things. But only the eternal drunk seems to come through.

My father was an American soldier with the army of occupation; my mother was a dumb German wench. I was brought to the United States at the age of two — Baltimore first, then Los Angeles, where most of my youth was wasted and where I live today. My father was a brutal and cowardly man who continually whipped me with a razor strap for the slightest reasons, often invented. My mother was in sympathy with his treatment of me.

After the age of five or six, I stopped crying when I was beaten. I hated the man so much that my only revenge upon him was not to cry, which made him beat me harder. The tears would come but they were silent tears. The beatings were always in the bathroom — I guess because the razor strap was there.

Young Bukowski grew to be a six foot tall man, and other monsters would replac his father. They live in small rooms, always behind in the rent, dreaming of the next bottle of wine, the next free drink in the bar.

They starve, go mad, are murdered and mutilated. Until you live and drink among these you will never know the abandoned people of America. They are abandoned and they have abandoned themselves. During all that time, the war years and the post-war prosperity, Bukowski had been writing, writing, writing, a scribe in search of a voice.

Legend has it that after the sale of "20 Tanks" to Portfolio in , Bukowski stopped writing for ten years, a myth promoted by the author himself in interviews and reinforced on the dust jacket to The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Other Stories City Lights Publishers, I think those were the nest days of them all, being very young and seeing the Golden Gate Bridge from my window.

Almost every day I discovered a new symphony … I selected my albums pretty much by chance, being too nervous and uncomfortable to understand them in the glass partitions of the somehow clinical music shops … There are moments, I have found, when a piece, after previous listenings that were sterile and dry … I have found that a moment comes when the piece at last unfolds itself fully to the mind. I wrote more poems, changed jobs and women … and then they began to pick up on me. My style was very simple and I said whatever I wanted to.

The books sold out right away. I was understood by Kansas City whores and Harvard professors. Who knows more? Some hated it, others loved it. I just drank more and wrote more poems.

My typewriter was my machine gun and it was loaded. There is, however, an ample abundance of essays on the topic of poetry, a subject that Bukowski could orate upon with the fire and epic pomposity of a Southern Baptist minister on Sunday morning. A dirty dull little game. Most of our bad and acceptable poetry is written by English professors of state-supported, rich-supported, industry-supported universities. Bukowski believed that poetry, to remain true and pure, had to be freed from shackles and restraints, like other art forms that constantly evolve painting and architecture immediately spring to mind.

Poetry must continually move out of itself, away from shadows and reflections. The reason so much bad poetry is written is that it is written as poetry instead of concept. It is simply to be written. By someone. And not too often.

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Quotes from the Charles Bukowski book “Portions From A Wine-Stained Notebook”

Add to basket Add to wishlist Description Charles Bukowski , one of the most outrageous and controversial figures of 20th-century American literature, was so prolific that many important pieces were never collected during his lifetime. Portions is a substantial selection of these wide-ranging works, most of which have been unavailable since their original appearance in underground newspapers, literary journals, even porno mags. Among the highlights are his first published short story, "Aftermath of a Lengthy Rejection Slip"; his last short story, "The Other"; his first and last essays; and the first installment of his famous "Notes of a Dirty Old Man" column. The book contains meditations on his familiar themes drinking, horse-racing, etc.

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