Henry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books
Charles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.
Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).
He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
svi su saglasni da je ovo teško vreme, možda najteže od svih vremena, velike grupe ljudi u gradovima širom sveta protestuju jer ne žele da budu tretirani kao smeće.
ali ko god da je na vlasti neće da ih sluša.
vidljivo je, naravno, da se jedna moć bori protiv druge dok je stvarna moć, naravno, u rukama nekolicine koje vladaju nacijama i njihove potrebe da zaštite te silne stvari koje im pripadaju.
shvatljivo je da će tih nekoliko vladara pobeći kad finalna erupcija krene; pobeći će u svoja bezbedna skloništa odakle će posmatrati erupciju do kraja, a onda se, posle razumne pauze, vratiti i početi da grade nove besmislenu i odvratno nepravednu budućnost.
što, po meni, nije baš najsrećnija misao dok s praskom otvaram limenku piva u vreloj julskoj noći.
"tebe je ubilo to što si previše znala. Dižem piće za tvoje Kosti o kojima ovaj Ker još uvek sanja."
Uhvati me katkad osećanje rasejanosti, gde kao da van mene ničega nema, ona doza odvojenosti od sveta pojačana do 'zlatnog metka' koji ponavlja samo jedno: "Sam si." Tada znam da treba u ruke ponovo da uzmem Bukovskog, čini se kao da se barem tada nakratko ispari ta usamljenost, jer postoji neko sličan, neko ko govori ono što misliš, ko piše kako živiš, i kako je on živeo... to biće bezumlja, pijanstva i zverskog urlika - to je Bukovski. A ovde, pored svih ostalih ciklusa koji najbolje oslikavaju njegov rad, prvi je svakako najvažniji. Pesme za Džejn ispunjene su svime čime je bilo ispunjeno njegovo biće. Prepuštenost životu, očaj i gorki smeh, pivski zadah i miris ruža urinom isprskanih. Ljubav i propadanje. Džejn.