Pis Moruğun Notları 2

by Charles Bukowski, Avi Pardo (Translator)

Charles Bukowski'nin ölümünden sonra bulunmuş, daha önce hiç kitaplaşmamış öyküleri ilk kez Türkçe'de.

Harry bara girip oturdu. "Sulu skoç," dedi barmene. Harry'nin barlara dair bazı düşünceleri vardı. İnsanlığın ikinci en aşağılık türünden geçilmezlerdi. Birinci en aşağılık türü hipodromda bulabilirdiniz. Harry hipodromdan az önce çıkmış biri olarak bütünüyle anlamsız bir günü tamamlıyordu. Müzik dolabı suskundu ve kimse bilardo oynamıyordu en azından. Bir bara girip sarhoş oluncaya kadar aynaya bakmanın mümkün olduğu o eski günleri hatırladı. Ya da birini marizlerdin, ya da biri seni marizlerdi. O zamanlar hipodromda kazanmak da mümkündü ve arada sırada klas bir hatunla tanışırdın. Ama sızlanmanın yararı neydi? Herkes aynı dünyada yaşıyordu. Ya da öyle diyorlardı. İlk içkiyi hakladı, bir tane daha söyledi.

Pis Moruğun Notları II'de Charles Bukowski'nin ölümünden sonra bulunmuş, daha önce hiç kitaplaşmamış eserleri yer alıyor. Bu eserlerin çoğu çeşitli yeraltı dergilerinde yayınlanmış.
(Tanırtım Bülteninden)

Genres: Fiction, Short Stories, Essays, Literature, Poetry, American, The United States Of America

216 pages, Paperback

First published September 13, 2011

About the author

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.

Reviews

[Jayakrishnan · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is more of the same old stuff. The drunk man who is sick of the world. Tired of the people in it. Lots of drinking, sex and despair with that rare illuminating piece of social commentary inserted here and there. There is the token scorn for Norman Mailer's writing, run ins with psychotic men and women and lots of boozing. Bukowski basically dishes out the same thing over and over again. Yet I return, again and again, for more. Because reading Bukowski is like opening a nice bottle of rum and just sitting there drinking.

Most of this book is lively and entertaining. There is an uncharacteristically mean story with a character named Harry Benson. But Bukowski makes up for it with an account of life with an old couple - Crotty's which is very touching. And then there is a somewhat long short story which eventually became Hollywood.

I started reading Bukowski early last year. And now I'm almost done with all of his novels and short stories (Absence of the Hero is in the mail as I type this review). I guess I'll start with the poetry now.

[Tom Quinn · Rating 3 out of 5]

A Bukowski book is driven not by what's written but by who's writing. There's nothing inherently interesting here--in fact the topics he covers are downright mundane. He drinks, he gets horny, he complains, he drinks. But there's such a strong energy behind it all that it's hard to break away. The man really does elevate the lowest, meanest, dirtiest experiences of his terrible/beautiful lifestyle into art.

3.5 stars out of 5. There's some really really strong stuff in here, but as a whole this collection is a little uneven. Some of it is heartfelt and brilliant, some of it is superficial, and much of it grows repetitive. The fiction in particular seems... uninspired. But I find Bukowski a very important author, if only because he reminds us that some people really do live this way.

[Δαμιανός Λαουνάρος · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πρόκειται για μια συνέχεια των κειμένων του Bukowski από την εφημερίδα Open City και τον ομώνυμο τίτλο στήλης που διατηρούσε για κάμποσα χρόνια. Για την ακρίβεια είναι κείμενα που δεν είχαν δημοσιευτεί στο βιβλίο "Σημειώσεις Ενός Πορνόγερου". Πολλά από αυτά, δώσανε τροφή για τη δημιουργία κάποιων εκ των επιφανέστερων μυθιστορημάτων του. Κάποιος που δεν διαβάζει Bukowski, πιθανόν να μην το εκτιμήσει όσο πρέπει. Να του φανεί ανιαρό που μιλάει σε ένα ακόμη έργο του για το σεξ, τον τζόγο, τις πόρνες και τους ανθρώπους του περιθωρίου... Για όλους εμάς τους υπόλοιπους που αγαπούμε τον Bukowksi, αποτελεί ένα ακόμα πολύτιμο διαμάντι στη συλλογή του θησαυρού που άφησε πίσω! Κείμενα επιμελώς ατημέλητα, γραφή ελεύθερη και καθόλου επιτηδευμένη, λέξεις αληθινές, με αρκετή δόση σοφίας του πεζοδρομίου να ξεπροβάλουν ανάμεσα σε μεθύσια που οδηγούν στο τίποτα. Όπως ακριβώς και οι ζωές των περισσότερων ανθρώπων. Είτε αγαπάς είτε μισείς τον Bukowski, οφείλεις τουλάχιστον να παραδεχτείς πως έλεγε αλήθειες, φανερώνοντας έναν κόσμο απομακρυσμένο από το Αμερικάνικο Όνειρο και πιο κοντά στον Αμερικάνικο Εφιάλτη. Και σε αυτό το βιβλίο δεν παρέλειψε να πει αρκετές...

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

There's actually some pretty good stuff in this one. Still not Bukowski's best material in my book, but much better than some of the other previously uncollected stuff. Definitely glad I grabbed this one.

[Agris Fakingsons · Rating 5 out of 5]

..Bukovska netīrie stāsti un skarbās dzīves atziņas nekad nevar būt par daudz. un audiogrāmatas lasījums arī ļoti izdevies.

[Sarah Booth · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book had the usual interesting stories about Bukowski as well as a couple stories about rape and violence. One story I found particularly harsh. Bukowski’s honest and unapologetic style gives you a view of the world is it is, there is no hiding the violence that exists and seeing it up close and personal can be quite jarring. It gives you something to think about the nature of man.

[Tom Stamper · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's arguably a hodgepodge of writing with first person experiences mixed with fiction and even aphorisms and yet it works because Bukowski consistently speaks in the same voice regardless of category. There are pieces in here that he would incorporate into later novels and much more on horse racing than he gives you in his fiction. The guy should have been writing for Daily Racing Form as anyone that's spent time trying to win money on the horses would appreciate his observations. For as much as his reputation rests on his drinking and womanizing, the horse races are seemingly the center of his recreation. That comes out quite a bit in his book, Hollywood, where his alter-ego skips much of the filming of his screenplay to be at the track.

Don't start your Bukowski journey with this book because you'll get the idea that his drunkenness leads to fragments and disjointed thoughts and it might annoy you. This is more of a leftovers book after you have read his more cohesive stories. You'll be familiar enough with his motifs that this will fill in gaps rather than raise questions.

[Keijo · Rating 4 out of 5]

A few stinkers, a few brilliant pieces, and everything else in it pretty good.

This is the 21st prose book I've read from Bukowski and, as far as I know, the last of them.

It's been a good ride.

[Filippo Santaniello · Rating 3 out of 5]

Non tutti i racconti sono da salvare, qualche scritto non è nemmeno un racconto ma pensieri estrapolati da pagine di diario, tuttavia quando Buk azzecca le storie giuste e con la giusta carica alcolica, non ce n’è per nessuno 🍷

[Nikos Kamakas · Rating 5 out of 5]

«Δεν έχω ιδέα πού είναι η κόλαση, αλλά θα πρέπει να βρίσκεται μέσα σε κάποιο κουρείο»

[Tom Schulte · Rating 4 out of 5]

Being a sequel, I thought maybe I would not like this compared to the first volume. I guess my concern was they used all the best stuff in the first one. Honestly, I like this collection better. It is more revelatory of the Bukowski mindset, such as in this letter interview he shared:

1) Why is your phone unlisted?
Simple. Two years ago, that is before I quit my job, I didn’t have as much laying around time as I do now. The little free time I had then was needed toward creation. A ringing phone is a hazard. People have a way of inviting themselves over. At one time I didn’t answer the door, the phone or the mail. I feel that I was justified. I feel that what I created during that time proves it. Now I murder my own time. But I feel that what I create now also justifies that.
2) Have you ever written, or thought about writing, a film scenario?
Excuse me, what is a film scenario? Does it have anything to do with movies? Then the answer is no. I have never seen a movie that didn’t make me a bit sick. I don’t want to make anybody sick.
3) Do you have anything like an aesthetic theory?
What does “aesthetic” mean? I don’t have any theories. I simply DO. Or is that a theory, uh? Uh.
4) How about a philosophy of history?
I don’t like history. History is a terrible weight which proves nothing except the treachery of man and I am aware of that by walking down the street NOW. History is dull and doubtful and I don’t know how much of it is true. History is the memory of victory and defeat, and I’ve got enough on my mind now.
5) How about the common belief that all poems are political?
No, I think that most poems are cows with big sagging empty tits. I presume that by “political” you mean poems that move something toward the ultimate betterment of Man and the Government of Man. That’s all too perfect and coy. A poem is often something that is only necessary toward one man—the writer. It’s often a perfect form of selfishness. Let’s not credit ourselves with too much. Garage mechanics are more human than we are.
6) Have you written music?
Uhuh. I never liked those notes and lines and things they tried to teach me in school, I hated the teacher, so I deliberately didn’t learn the notes. Now it seems too late and too silly. Music affects me much more than writing or painting, though, and I seem to be listening to it continually—classical, rock, jazz, anything. It’s awfully good shit.
7) Other writers you admire (besides Jeffers and Aiken—I’m thinking of Anthony Burgess, for example, whose
Enderby
is somewhat Bukowskian . . . & as a matter of fact, Burgess used to be a composer)?
Never heard of Burgess, which doesn’t mean he isn’t any good. I don’t read much anymore. I like Artaud, Céline, Dostoyevsky, Kafka and the STYLE of the early Saroyan without the content. Then maybe Eugene O’Neill or somebody like that. Most writers simply don’t have it and never will. There’s hardly any looking around, up, down, before and before that. A pack of shameful fakes. If I ever go to hell there will be all writers down there. There could be nothing worse.
8) Several times during our “interview” you said, sardonically, “I’m immortal”; now I’m no depth psychologist or mystic-of-the-word . . . but the thought occurs to me that maybe you sometimes brood on what sort of trace you’ll leave as an artist, a writer . . . and also on human perishability. (There’s a question somewhere in that preceding sentence.)
There is? Well, about the “immortal,” I hope I said it “sardonically.” The only good thing about writing is the writing itself—that is, to bring me closer to what is necessary NOW and to keep me from becoming anything like the first face I pass on a sidewalk on any given day. When I die they can take my work and wipe a cat’s ass with it. It will be of no earthly use to me. The only trace I want to leave, after death, is upon myself, and that isn’t important to you. Incidentally, one of the best things I like about humans is that they do perish.
9) Anything in astrology or Zen or any of the popular cults you believe in?
I don’t have time for cults. That business is for the large gang of people who need toe-tickling. For them, it’s all right. It might even be helpful. But I build the IDEA of myself from myself and my experience. I will have my blind sides, true. And I might have much to learn from other men. But, basically, I am not a learner from other men. I am headstrong and prejudiced but it’s good to live without too much instruction from other men. I’ve found the most learned men to be bores and the dumbest seem to be the most profound and uncluttered. Who wants to be many voices when there is only one voice trying to get out?
10) You told me you stopped writing when you were 24 (incidentally, have you written an account of this episode with your father? If you haven��t we’d like to see it for THE ____REVIEW—we pay something like $50.00 for stories and essays) . . . but you didn’t tell me when you started writing before that, and why you started writing.
I’d much rather you paid me $50 for answering these questions. I’m not sure that thing I told you about my father is quite true, although there is a partial truth. Sometimes when I’m talking I improve on things to make them better. Some people might call it lying; I call it an art-form, and, uh uh, no, I didn’t tell you when I started writing or why, but I was drinking, wasn’t I? And also, you didn’t ask. And also, I’m glad you didn’t ask.
11) Is there anything, other than booze and women (I presume), that stimulates you creative lust? (Smell of horses, faces in the crowd at the track?) (You sort of answered this, but I’d like to hear more if you’d like to say it.)
Everything, of course, stimulates my creative lust. Faces in the crowd do it plenty. I can look at faces and become disgusted and terrorized and sickened. Others can find beauty in them like large fields of flowers. I guess I ain’t much of a man for that. I am narrow. I can’t see the horizons or the reasons or the excuses or the glories. The average face to me is a total nightmare.
Well, shit, I guess I don’t look so good to others either. I’ve been told I’m a very ugly man by more than one. So there’s your joke. Let’s get off these faces. I know that I haven’t answered your question properly, but I got into a passion and started yelling. Sorry.
12) What do you think of “confessional” poetry? How do you see your own work fitting and resisting that label?
Confessional poetry, of course, depends upon who does it. I think that most brag too much on themselves or don’t know how to laugh properly. Does that sound bitchy? Well, I mean, examine it and see. Even Whitman.
I really do think that most of my confessional stuff relieves itself as a form of entertainment. Meaning, look, I lost my balls or my love, ha ha ha. So forth. But the ha ha ha must be fairly relevant and real, I mean no Bob Hope stuff, so forth.
I find that when the pain gets bad enough there are only three things to do—get drunk, kill yourself or laugh. I usually get drunk and laugh.
Yeh. I don’t always do the confessional stuff but I suppose I am hooked on it, it comes easy because much has happened, I almost MAKE much happen—as if to create a life to create an art. I don’t think this is the true way to do things, it is probably a weakness, but I am a dreamer and maybe a dramatist and I like more things to happen than happen—so I push them a bit. I suppose it’s not right. I don’t claim to be.
13) What do you think of college kids reading poetry? Why do they do it? Do they read you? Do they read poetry for what you consider valid reasons? (That last verges on being an asinine question, but you might be able to redeem it with a clever answer.)
Now you know I don’t think of college kids reading poetry. I don’t know if they do or if they read me. There’s no clever way to answer this without making up something I don’t know and which I can’t get away with, so I’m being more clever this way.
14) What’s so great about living in L.A.?
I’m here to begin with and then you build around that. Or I build around it. I’ve lived most of my life here and I’ve simply gotten used to the place. I can’t even get lost, sober. And just the other day I found out where the L.A. Zoo was. And the women here seem to love old men. I’ve never seen women like that. At the same time, I’m suicidal and there’s the smog to help me out. So, what do you got in *****Ohio?
15) What are you reading now? What are your reading habits?
I’m not reading anything. Well, I write my own things and I read them. I suppose that’s a habit.
16) If you were suddenly to become wealthy, how would your life change?
I would become wiser, more profound and more lovely.
17) Do you have any children?
I have a girl aged 7. She’s all right.

That girl being of course Marina Louise Bukowski.

Also interesting to me was him recounting his time the French Quarter working with the publishing Webbs.

Excellent narration by Will Patton really adds to this.

[Nada Aj]

i love books where fact and fiction are melded together to weave a tale. i love bukowski and by his lack of care he encourages the reader to care more.

[Avery · Rating 4 out of 5]

This guy is great. I'm a fan

[Victoria Moore · Rating 5 out of 5]

After reading "More Notes of a Dirty Old Man: The Uncollected Columns" by Charles Bukowski I know why he's one of my favorite writers and literary role models. First of all he always tells it like it is and second of all he always makes life, no matter how mundane, entertaining, sad and witty. Pictured on the cover driver and smoking a cigarette I will never forget the day I saw him driving down the street in Downtown L.A. in his '67 baby blue Volkswagon looking out the window and checking out the scene. Just like then, when I read his book now, I felt like I was in one of his stories. Raw, beautiful and sometimes violent and erotic the columns flow together with a voice that limps along with weariness and gravitas.
Separated by his solitary man and dog standing by a tree illustrations the columns are written in such a rich, gritty, photographic style you feel like you're experiencing everything he's talking about first-hand. Whether he's hanging at the track, drinking with friends or romancing a woman he brings you into his world and everything's alright. The main contribution he's made to literature is that he found relevance in everything he experienced and noticed the significance and beauty in a life other's might otherwise take for granted if he didn't point them out in his work. This memorable book just demonstrates again why he's still considered a genius.

[Nicholas King · Rating 5 out of 5]

The view from below often carries a certain amount of filth. But even this filth can be seen as fertilizer for something to grow. Charles Bukowski’s view of the world came from the bottom. And in that view were the basest aspects of life that drove a person forward. More Notes of a Dirty Old Man stands as a collection of fiction, anecdotes, and semi-autobiographical columns written by Bukowski over much of his life. It certainly is not for the weak-minded or the ordinary.

For the remainder of this review, please visit my blog King's Crier: Book Reviews. Here's the link: http://kingscrier.blogspot.com/2012/0...

[Corey · Rating 2 out of 5]

I really liked "Hollywood," and I'm a fan of his poetry, but Bukowski was a bit of a one trick pony when it came to prose. The "I hate everything except booze and sex and oh by the way I don't have any money" shtick gets old quickly, and there was nothing to hold me here. I think when I went through my teenage-nihilistic phase that many teens go through, Bukowski's stuff really spoke to me. But as I age, and as my tastes in literature change as well, I find his work increasingly silly.

[David Ward · Rating 2 out of 5]

More Notes of a Dirty Old Man: the Uncollected Columns by Charles Bukowski (City Lights Books 2011)(818.54). Today I read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, and then I read this. I barely understood Siddhartha, and I did not understand any of Bukowski's More Notes of a Dirty Old Man. I'm going back to bed. My rating: 5/10, finished 5/12/14.

[Ashton Hendriks · Rating 5 out of 5]

just perfection. A chauvaunistic asshole has never written so beautifully. strangely enough I resonate with so many things he says

[Designated Hysteric · Rating 5 out of 5]

"God knows I am not too hippy. Perhaps because I am too much around the hip and I fear fads for, like anybody else, I like something that tends to last. Then, too, the hippy foundation or diving board or resting place or whatever you want to call it does suck in its fair share of fakes, promoters and generally vicious people trying to overcompensate for some heinous psychological defect. But you have these everywhere—hippy and non-hippy. But, like I say, the few people that I know are either a bit on the side of the artistic, the pro-hip or the understanding-hip, so I have been generally getting more of this slice of cake and it has seemed a bit SWEET.
But, lo, the other day I got the OTHER bit and I think I’d rather eat sweet than shit."


"I sit here playing writer each day and my typer faces the street. I live in a front court, and I don’t consciously work. Wait, that’s a mistake—I do consciously work—but I don’t consciously watch, but toward evening I see them coming in—walking and driving—most of them are young ladies who live alone in all these high rise apartments which surround me. Some of them are fairly attractive and most of them are well-dressed, but something has been beaten out of them. That 8-hour job of doing an obnoxious thing for their own survival and for somebody else’s profit had worked them over well.
These ladies immediately disappear into the high-rise walls, close the apartment door and vanish forever. From the cubicle of the job to the cubicle of resting and waiting to return to the job. The job is the center. The job is the sun. The job is the mother’s breast. To be jobless is the sin; to be lifeless doesn’t matter. Of course, one must consider their side—a job is money and to be moneyless is not comfortable. I know enough about this. And every person can’t be an artist; that is, a painter, a musician, a composer, a writer, whatever. Many lack the talent, many lack the courage; most lack both. Even artists can’t remain artists forever, especially good artists who can earn enough to survive within their craft. The talent goes, the courage goes, something goes. What’s left for the average person but an occupation that must, finally, kill the spirit?"


"I like Artaud, Céline, Dostoyevsky, Kafka and the STYLE of the early Saroyan without the content. Then maybe Eugene O’Neill or somebody like that. Most writers simply don’t have it and never will. There’s hardly any looking around, up, down, before and before that. A pack of shameful fakes. If I ever go to hell there will be all writers down there. There could be nothing worse."


"Good writers watch other people live. Great writers live and watch other people live."

[Кремена Михайлова · Rating 2 out of 5]

„Спомних си един път, когато бях много близо до самоубийство. Седях на висока скала над океана при Сан Диего. Докато седях, четири катерички бавно – е, не бавно, а като се стрелкаха бързо, както правят, но изглеждаше бавно – се приближиха, дойдоха досами краката ми, както си седях, и аз погледнах в големите им кафяви очи и те се втренчиха в моите. Не се страхуваха от мен и ми стана много чудно. Стори ми се, че минаха няколко минути; по едно време леко се размърдах и те хукнаха по скалите.“

„Едно стихотворение много често е необходимо само на един човек – автора. То често е една съвършена форма на егоизъм. Нека не се величаем прекалено. Автомонтьорите са много по-човечни от нас.“

„Само силните могат да живеят сами, силните и егоистите.“

„Музиката обаче ми влияе много повече, отколкото словото или изобразителното изкуство и не преставам да слушам – класическа, рок, джаз, всичко. Тя е адски добро нещо.“

„Аз съм отшелник, прекарал по-голямата част от живота си в тясна стаичка с бутилка, пишеща машина и от време на време някоя жена.“

„И сигурно има какво да науча от другите хора. Но по принцип не ме бива да се уча от другите. Аз съм инат и имам доста предразсъдъци, но е хубаво да живееш без прекалено много вмешателства от околните. Забелязал съм, че най-начетените са скучни, а най-глупавите изглеждат най-прозорливи и необременени.“

„След като умра, можете да вземете писанията ми и да избършете с тях гъза на някоя котка.“

„Църкви, танци, партита, всичко това ги разделя допълнително, а клубовете за запознанства, компютърните машини за любов още и още разрушават естествеността, която би трябвало да има между нас; естествеността, която някак нива смачкана и остава смачкана завинаги в съвременния ни начин на живот (и на смърт).“

„- Не съм чукал от 5 години.
- Шегуваш се – изсмях се аз.
- Не, сериозно. 5 години.
Нямаше още трийсет. “

„Копелдак, не те понасям повече, но искам да знаеш, че те обичам и че никога няма да те забравя… Сали.“

„-Сексът е нещо, което правиш, за да се чувстваш добре и да продължаваш да правиш всички неща, от които не се чувстваш добре.
- Не е като дефиниция от „Уебстър“, но не звучи зле.“

„-Вярваш ли в любовта?
- Да, но само при другите хора.“

„- Добрите писатели наблюдават как другите хора живеят. Великите писатели живеят и наблюдават как другите хора живеят.
- А какво правят лошите писатели?
- Пари.“

[Vanessa · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Μερικοί άνθρωποι δεν τρελαίνονται ποτέ. Τι πραγματικά φριχτή ζωή έχουν." Μπουκόφσκι….

«Η ζωή σου τώρα θα χωριστεί στα 2… η πριν τον Μπουκόφσκι και η μετά» μου είπαν.
Στην αρχή δεν το κατάλαβα… Και η αλήθεια είναι πως πρέπει να περάσουν μερικές σελίδες για να αρχίσεις να αντιλαμβάνεσαι…
Αλλά δεν φτάνει μόνο αυτό..
Πρέπει να έχεις πληγωθεί, να έχεις πιάσει πάτο μερικές φορές, να έχεις απογοητευτεί κάμποσες άλλες από αγαπημένους φίλους, να έχεις καθυστερήσει στη δουλειά σου, να μην βρήκες τα σωστά λόγια σε μια κρίσιμη κουβέντα, να έχεις νιώσει απόλυτη ευτυχία, να έχεις γελάσει με την καρδιά σου, να έχεις μείνει ενεός με ένα έργο τέχνης, να έχεις χάσει μια ευκαιρία, να έχεις κερδίσει μιαν αγάπη, να νιώθεις ότι έχεις τα πάντα, να έχεις νιώσει ότι έχεις μείνει ρέστος….
Να έχεις χάσει τον εαυτό σου πριν τον βρεις εντελώς…
«You have to die a few times before you can really live» όπως λέει.
Και τότε, αφού είσαι πλούσιος από συναισθήματα, μπορέσεις να νιώσεις το μπουκοφσκικό κείμενο.

Ο Μπουκόφσκι πάνω στην προσπάθειά του να βγάλει χρήματα ξεκίνησε να γράφει μια εβδομαδιαία στήλη σε μία εφημερίδα με τίτλο «Οι σημειώσεις ενός πορνόγερου». Γνώρισε τεράστια επιτυχία η ωμότητα, οι αντισυμβατικές απόψεις αλλά και οι μεγάλες πικρές αλήθειες για τη ζωή. Το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο «Μερικές ακόμα Σημειώσεις ενός πορνόγερου» συγκεντρώνει μερικά ακόμα κείμενα από τη στήλη που διατηρούσε για πάνω από 20 χρόνια.
Πρόκειται για ένα ημερολόγιο της καθημερινότητάς του μέσα από το οποίο καταφέρνεις να γνωρίσεις τον άνθρωπο Τσαρλς σε διάφορες πτυχές της ζωής του. Στα μεθύσια του, στις χασούρες του, στο σεξ, στην αλητεία και στο δρόμο. Ναι, δεν είναι μια ιστορία με χαρούμενο τέλος ούτε μια ιστορία με όμορφες στιγμές. Έχει όμως ένα τρόπο ο Μπουκόφσκι να περιγράφει την πιο αηδιαστική στιγμή με τέτοιο τρόπο που να σου μεταδίδει όλη την αηδία της εικόνας αλλά να μην αηδιάζεις. Τρελό ε?
Παρόλα αυτά σίγουρα θα διαβάσω κι άλλο

[Thomas Goddard · Rating 3 out of 5]

I loved this for all the reasons that I did the last instalment... however...

This one stepped over the line a few times for me. It was very sexually aggressive and that really affected me on this read. You lose what little respect remains for the character of Bukowski and realise him finally as ineffectual and impotent in the face of the world. Obviously that has literary and educational merit... but what was gained felt a little hollow, because I didn’t believe it.

Thrown into these situations, via all you know of the man prior, you cannot believe him when he tells you what he does. So either all he said before was a lie, or this is a new resignation of the spirit to drink. How terrible.

I don’t have any issue separating the man from the character... what I’m saying is only that the character of Bukowski, as written, felt just the slightest bit less honest this time around.

This one has a higher rating than Notes... and I have to say that I find that rather alarming too, because it means that people read the last one and then this more extreme one and found this the more rewarding.

I think that shows the evolution of the project. Darker and more extreme to keep up with expectations and increase engagement.

But then, doesn’t that speak to the bigger, brighter, bolder mindset that humanity has installed into culture.

[Pajtim Ademi · Rating 4 out of 5]

So I just finished another one by Bukowski because clearly, I have a penchant for the raw, unfiltered essence of human experience, or maybe I'm just a masochist for the gritty truths of life.

This compilation, brimming with the usual suspects of sex, alcohol, and gambling, somehow transcends the mundane through Bukowski's lens. It's not for the faint-hearted or those seeking solace in comfortable narratives. Instead, it's for those who appreciate the beauty in the bleak, the poetry in the profane. He doesn't just tell stories; he rips out pages from the book of life, crumples them up, and throws them at you to piece together.

Giving this a four-star review might seem like a disservice to Bukowski's genius or an indictment of his sometimes repetitive themes, but it's a testament to his ability to hold up a mirror to society's darkest corners and the human condition. It's clear why his work remains provocatively relevant. Bukowski, the dirty old man himself, might have scoffed at the notion of stars rating his life's reflections, but here we are, still trying to categorize the uncategorizable.

[Abdul Alhazred · Rating 2 out of 5]

Lesser material than Notes of a Dirty Old Man, which is in turn lesser than the novels, (Post Office) as you'd expect. I should take my own advice with Bukowski; just read a bit of it here and there and it's better, and as intended (in column form).
Like the blurb suggests you do get a sense of his writing technique, workshopping material in the columns that ends up paying off better later. Start with the novels and then the first collection.

[Rachael · Rating 5 out of 5]

"I am eaten by my own kind of madness" Charles Bukowski

You must love this man to love this man. And me, I love this man!! He is filthy and vulgar. A drunk. Hates people and Christmas. Amen
I can't get enough of Hank and his dirty mind. His words are the bare and honest truth. No filters or sugar coating. Just hard core heart felt real writing. Funny, with that twisted sick sense of humor. I enjoy every word!!!

Happy Reading....

[Antonis Louizidis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πρόκειται για μια συλλογή κειμένων που δεν είχαν δημοσιευθεί στις "σημειώσεις ενός πορνογερου" , παρόλα αυτά εμπεριέχονται κάποια εξαιρετικά κείμενα σε ένα πιο ώριμο ύφος του συγγραφέα. Πέρα του γνωστού βρώμικου ρεαλισμού σε αυτά τα κείμενα μπορούμε να διακρίνουμεκάποιους βαθύς προβληματισμούς που αφορούν τις έννοιες, ελευθερία και δικαιοσύνη καθώς και μια εξαιρετική νουβέλα με πρωταγωνιστή τον Στιβ Κόσμος που αποτελεί ένα ιδιαίτερα ενδιαφέρον κείμενο.

[Daniel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bukowski is always a good read. He covers his usual ground: drinking, chasing women, bar fights, classical music and fine literature, writing, and some occasional cultural commentary. Interesting to know that the FBI wasted taxpayer dollars monitoring this guy. Some things never change I guess.

[Antonio Depietro · Rating 5 out of 5]

so great. what can i say? i'm a fan. i still find him inspiring and fascinating. it can be very raw and unsettling and he definitely is not of this time. it's not PC at all - but only a person with talent can pull it off. Not for the faint of heart.

[Gijs Limonard · Rating 4 out of 5]

You gotta give it to upper-bum Bukowsky; the stories are all the same; women, prostitutes, booze, horse racing, fights and still, you will keep reading/listening as most of the stories in this particular selection do not fail to amuse, delight and/or shock you out of your cushioned life.

[Shannon · Rating 3 out of 5]

I liked it at times but I was really depressed when I read it. I think you have to really lean into that when reading Bukowski which isn’t necessarily bad. It’s also just not one of those books you read from start to finish unless you’re on adderall or a woman recently scorned you