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.
دوستانِ گرانقدر، با خواندنِ اشعارِ «بوکوفسکی» متوجه میشوید که او پی در پی در حالِ اعتراض کردن بوده است، گویا فقط و فقط سختی هایِ روزگار را میدیده و انتقاد میکرده است و اصلاً خوشی ها و زیبایی هایِ این جهان به چشمش نمی آمده است.... سخنانش ساده است ولی خواندنش فقط با زمانی مطابقت دارد که از کار و زندگی و دوست و عالم و آدم، خسته و دلزده باشید و بنشینید و برایِ خودتان یک پیک مشروب بریزید و سپس دودِ سیگار را در هوا فوت کنید و اشعارِ «بوکوفسکی» را بخوانید و بگویید: «بوکوفسکی» به سلامتیِ خودت، یادت گرامی باشد که چقدر سخنان و اشعاری که نوشتی به وضعیتِ من شباهت دارد، گویا این شعر را برایِ من نوشته بودی اِی مرد ************************ به هرحال با احترام به طرفدارانِ «بوکوفسکی»، این دیدگاهِ من از اشعار و نوشته هایِ «بوکوفسکی» بود امیدوارم کافی و مفید بوده باشه <پیروز باشید و ایرانی>
سالمندان را دوست داشتم اما سالمندي را نه پيري همه چيز را از آدم ميگرفت از حافظه گرفته تا قواي جنسي ميداني که ديگر آخر خطي فعل هايت همه ماضي ميشوند تقريبا مانند ميزباني هستي که دوست دارد آزاد باشد اما در عين حال ميداند که به زودي کسي زنگ در را خواهد زد منتظر مرگ بودن بدتر از خود مرگ است