Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowskiwas an American poet, novelist, and short story writer...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth16 August 1920
CityAndernach, Germany
CountryUnited States of America
passion earthquakes mahler
I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained his passion. He must have looked like an earthquake walking down the street.
beautiful solitude earth
they simply never understand, do they, that sometimes solitude is one of the most beautiful things on earth?
people earth horror
the people are the biggest horror show on earth, have been for centuries.
father earth mets
it seemed to me that I had never met another person on earth as discouraging to my happiness as my father. and it appeared that I had the same effect upon him.
moral human-experience grounded
Morals were restrictive, but they were grounded on human experience.
men never-trust never-trust-a-man
Never trust a man in a jumpsuit
lovers what-you-love all-things
Find what you love and let it kill you. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
wine two together
I was fairly poor but most of my money went for wine and classical music. I loved to mix the two together.
art mean thinking
I should think that many of our poets, the honest ones, will confess to having no manifesto. It is a painful confession but the art of poetry carries its own powers without having to break them down into critical listings. I do not mean that poetry should be raffish and irresponsible clown tossing off words into the void. But the very feeling of a good poem carries its own reason for being... Art is its own excuse, and it’s either Art or it’s something else. It’s either a poem or a piece of cheese.
writing drunk advice
It's hot tonight and half the neighborhood is drunk. the other half is dead. if I have any advice about writing poetry it's - don't. I'm going to send out for some fried chicken.
men drug cases
…He was always high on drugs. I was not a drug man, but in case I wanted to hide from myself for a few days, I knew I could get anything I wanted from him.
sleep air tunnels
There's no light at the end of the tunnel, there isn't even a tunnel. The best thing I can do is get drunk and listen to classical music. Or sleep and wait for death to get closer. Leaving this will not be a horrible thing. Yet I'm glad, somehow, that I threw my words in the air: confetti, celebrating nothing.
beautiful graves
Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.
sadness blood body
...the human body is mostly blood and mystery and sadness...