The Bard Of Hollywood – Charles Bukowski

The Bard of Hollywood

By Marcus D. Niski

He was a tough motherfucker
at least he’d like to have
us think that he was.

Everyday he’d get up
And start drinking and writing
Writing and drinking.

Yet under that
beer barrel chest
lay the heart of a lion,
a heart of gold

He gave us his best stuff
Fresh from the suburbs, the factories
the pool halls, the wastelands, the racetracks, the detritus
of urban life.

He never gave up
and never
gave in until
he gave his last
which as good as his best

He never understood
the human condition
because he was always striving.

‘He didn’t think much of them’
The Humans that is.

One of the most acute observers,
He laid his soul bare

And he told of the blood, the puss
the stink, the shit, the beauty, the horror
and the mundanity of life.

He lived life
To its fullest
despite his own queer
deviations.

Bukowski
was a one-shot deal
An original even if it’s a clique
To suggest it.

His writing lives on
In eternity
To grace us with its realness,
Its sorrows

And its beauty.

[MN] 15 January 2020

Dedicated to Charles Bukowski (1920–1994) – one of my great literary heroes.

Egon Schiele — The Vale of Soul-Making

In Vienna there are shadows. The city is black and everything is done by rote. I want to be alone. I want to go to the Bohemian Forest. May, June, July, August, September, October. I must see new things and investigate them. I want to taste dark water and see crackling trees and wild winds. I want to gaze with astonishment at moldy garden fences, I want to experience them all, to hear young birch plantations and trembling leaves, to see light and sun, enjoy wet, green-blue valleys in the evening, sense goldfish glinting, see white clouds building up in the sky, to speak to flowers. I want to look intently at grasses and pink people, old venerable churches, to know what little cathedrals say, to run without stopping along curving meadowy slopes across vast plains, kiss the earth and smell soft warm marshland flowers. And then I shall shape things so beautifully: fields of colour… 

— Egon Schiele, as quoted by Reinhard Steiner in Egon Schiele, 1890-1918: The Midnight Soul of the Artist. (Taschen; Revised edition May 17, 2000) Originally Published February 1st 1994.

Egon Schiele — The Vale of Soul-Making

The Picture is The Title – by wallyRe

wallyRe is an Austrian sound artist, poet and photographer. This poem – the third part of a triptych – pays homage to the works of the Dada and Surrealist poets as well as the technique of chance operations as articulated by artists such as John Cage. More about wally Re can be found at her website: wallyre.net  

Image & Poem Text © wallyRe 2021

Giuseppe Ungaretti – Au repos — BEAUTY WILL SAVE THE WORLD

Le soleil s’essaime en diamants
de gouttes d’eau
sur l’herbe souple

Je reste docile
à l’inclination de l’univers serein

Les montagnes se dilatent
en gorgées d’ombre lilas
et vaguent avec le ciel

Là-haut à la voûte légère
l’enchantement s’est brisé

Et je tombe en moi

Et je m’enténèbre dans mon coin

Versa, 27 avril 1916

*** Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970) – Sentimento del tempo (1933) Vie d’un homme. Poésie, 1914-1970 (Poésie/Gallimard, 1981) – Traduit de l’italien par Jean Lescure.

Giuseppe Ungaretti – Au repos — BEAUTY WILL SAVE THE WORLD