An account of Charles Bukowski's 1978 European trip. In 1978 Europe was new territory for Bukowski holding the secrets of his own personal ancestry and origins. En route to his birthplace in Andernach, Germany, he is trailed by celebrity-hunters and paparazzi, appears drunk on French television, blows a small fortune at a Dusseldorf racetrack and stands in a Cologne Cathedral musing about life and death.
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.
`Dios me habría ayudado en medio de tanta porquería y terror y dolor y horror, todo habría sido más fácil y quizás incluso más lógico, me habría ayudado a entender, porque yo no era un hombre que pensara yo me movía por lo que sentía y mis sentimientos se dirigían a los lisiados, a los torturados, a los condenados y a los perdidos. No por compasión, sino por camarería, porque yo era uno de ellos, perdido, confuso, indecente, miserable, miedoso y cobarde; injusto y amistoso solo a ráfagas, y aunque estuviera jodido, sabía que eso no me ayudaba, no me curaba, solo reafirmaba mis sentimientos.´
Se nota que es una crónica casi hecha a la fuerza por encargo e la editorial, a pesar de ello, tiene mucha de la esencia del escritor. Ya se sabe de Bukowski, un desafío a la vida de forma constante, un desafío contra todo pronóstico que ni siquiera él esperaba, pero que si supo de ella al final. El camino de los perdedores, el camino del desafío a la vida, el camino al fin y al cabo. Como muchos de estos personajes de Bukowski en el que nos hemos encontrado en nuestras propias vidas, algo así como estar perdido, de forma consciente. Siempre da para la reflexión el maldito Charles.
Mamurni zapisi starog šmekera sa putovanja po Evropi, začinjeni gomilom fotografija. Nema ovde neke velike priče, jednostavno Bukovskog volite ili ne podnosite.
Авангардноста во пишувањето на Буковски е пар екселанс за рушење на стереотипите и нормите наметнати од општеството, кое никогаш не успеа да ја надмине статус кво положбата. Неговата контраверзност била неприфатлива за времето во кое живеел и творел, меѓутоа неспорно бил многу повеќе актуелен тогаш, отколку денес кога транспарентноста е можеби главно системско правило.
Без влакна на јазикот го опишува неговиот престој во Европа заедно со Линда Ли, исполнет со многу алкохол и турбулентни настапи. Нескротливиот карактер на Буковски е присутен во секоја негова реченица, нема тука наметнување или флерт, исклучиво физичко и телесно соголување на сите негови демони. Токму тие демони се неговиот авторски белег, а благодарение на ексцентричната фигура котира високо помеѓу читателите со префинет вкус.
Затоа делата на Буковски најлесно можат да се пренесат колоквијално, без никаква потреба од претерана формалност и совршен вокабулар. Или пак сложени реченици.
✍️ Повеќето луѓе бараат само три чесни оброка и малку секс, а во најголемиот дел од светот, човек, човекот го лишува од тие основни желби.
I’ve always like reading Bukowski. He’s got a raw bitter honesty that is very enlightening of the human condition, though it’s fairly bleak. Bukowski would never be accused of being an altruist, but he does have some few moments here and there (he likes cats after all), but he focuses mostly on human folly including his own.
Bukowski putuje u Europu. Otvara si petu bocu vina i kaže:"Sanjam kako postajem slavan".... Počinje priču o svom pijanom skandalu na francuskoj televiziji i nebuloznim izletom po Azurnoj obali...
Bukowski off American soil is a treat to behold for any longtime fan. His soul is left to explore new lands, and after years of hardship, he sounds contented with his situation and happy with his partner, Linda Lee. A great read, concise, direct, passionate, unpretentious, and real.
Un trago de vino. Un trago de cerveza. Algo de whisky con agua. Lo suficiente para olvidar la clorpromazina. Hay autores que tienen un "sabor" particular, un estilo propio. Es como abrir la bebida de tu preferencia: sabes lo que recibirá tu paladar. Parafraseando a Umberto Eco, a veces necesito medicina Bukowski y la encuentro a la mano en mi librero para esos momentos en que el alma la pide.
Shakespeare nunca lo hizo, de Charles Bukowski, es una crónica de la gira que hizo por Europa el creador de Henry Chinaski. Bukowski conoció la fama en Europa antes que en los Estados Unidos y fue por su poesía, no por sus novelas. La gira es para ofrecer recitales de su poesía y hacer promoción en televisión, así como documentar la ocasión. El libro es una muestra más de la habilidad de Bukowski de llevar a las letras los momentos más cotidianos.
Me costó un poco el arranque, no le veía mucho caso a leer una especie de diario de viaje novelado. Sin embargo, con el pasar de las páginas encontré el humor ácido y las reflexiones del autor sobre temas varios como el arte y el artista y su "legado", las diferentes audiencias que ha enfrentado; y no pueden faltar las risas por los malentendidos y situaciones cotidianas, sí, pero a las que Bukowski describe desde la sátira.
Para quien ha leído al viejo indecente, este libro no será nada nuevo. Pero, eso sí, será la dosis, pequeña, de Bukowski a la que un lector puede recurrir en caso de andar bajo de realismo sucio en su sistema.
ne morate čitati bukowskog, dovoljno je da u petak naveče odete do vašeg najbližeg mog marketa ili pekare klas, tamo ćete naći pijanduru koja će vam se unijeti u lice sa svojim neprijatnim zadahom, nešto razglabati zapletenim jezikom i još vas pritom opljačkati.
"Ako žena hoće da proda svoje telo, to možda nije bitno drukčije od violiniste koji na bini izvodi svoj koncert - borba da preživiš kako god znaš, smrt će svejedno doći, ali je bolje obmanuti je da pričeka malo."
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Is it too easy to respond to this title by saying, "Shakespeare was too busy writing masterpieces to do whatever it is you think, or thought, you were doing?" Sure, it's not as punchy as Bukowski's title but at least it has the honor of being a whole, rather than a half, truth.
I had never read any Bukowski before, and I must admit his prose, narrative style, and personality is quite enjoyable. Now I don’t understand why a such misogynistic, alcoholic, egotistical prick has the amount of dickriders that he does, but it was a good read nonetheless.
Completando lo que comentaba en _Erecciones_ sobre saber uno con qué encontrarse con Bukowski:
“How can a man a who is interested in almost nothing write about anything? Well, I do. I write about what’s left over: a stray dog walking down the street, a wife murdering her husband, the thoughts and feelings of a rapist as he bites into a hamburger sandwich; life in the factory, life in the streets and rooms of the poor and mutilated and the insane, crap like that, I write a lot of crap like that…”
En esta oportunidad recuenta el viaje a Alemania a publicitar sus libros: una entrevista en un programa de televisión que se va a la Mier, una visita al hipódromo en el que apuesta sin criterio, a la pura suerte, por falta de información, un recital en Hamburgo que parece ser un hit, una visita a su pueblo de origen, Andernach, en el que visita a un tío que, mucho mayor, parece estar en mejor condición física que él, el recorrido de lugares de interés, todo rodeado, por supuesto, de licor y vino porque de qué otra forma, y el deseo de volver a Hollywood a su decadente zona de confort.
The flight back wasn’t particularly impressive. I’d been asked to write a book about the trip, and I’d said “Yes,” and for a man who disliked travel, that was one hell of an assignment. I remembered the time Norman Mailer had written about Man’s landing on the moon, for Life magazine, I think it was, and I remembered how sorry I had been for him and then I thought of the money he had been given to do it, and I thought well, he’s just getting the bacon and the rent, punching the old time clock. It was rumored he had gotten one million dollars to write that. I was luckier: I was writing without an advance and without promise of publication. I could fall flat on my ass and nobody at all would be hurt. That was the way it had always been with me: it kept the left jab crisp, and the overhand right on target …
Me encantó leer esto. En realidad no lo tenía en mi listado, ya que fue una recomendación de mi librero. Este libro es una joya, ya que es narrativa, fotográfico y poético. Narra la estadía de Buk en Europa, ya que como él dice "todo escritor norteamericano es conocido en Europa primero", estuvo en Francia y en Alemania. Fue algo distinto que he leído de Charles y primera vez que lo veo como una persona divertida. Esta narración es acompañada de fotografías en blanco y negro, lo cual le da un toque increíble a las vivencias narradas. El epílogo está constituido por poemas en prosa, estilo característico de Buk.
It’s the first book I‘ve read from Bukowski and apparently it’s his most personal one. I also watched some interviews and read a few poems - and the first thing I will do tomorrow is buy some of his books. I’m very intrigued by his philosophy of life and especially his poems I find extremely touching. Surprisingly in some ways he really reminds me of Nietzsche. About this book I loved the +-60 photographs of Bukowskis trip. However I guess it probably makes more sense to not choose this book as your first Bukowski book (even though to me it was an interesting way to learn about a new author by starting to read a very intimate insight in his life…).
I can’t help but wonder how many bottles of wine and beer they drank on this trip through Europe. It was pretty interesting to read if you’re looking for a raw look into the life and journeys of Bukowski. There were some very funny moments in this book too. Don’t bother with it if you are looking for poetry though. This is purely Bukowski’s diary from this particular trip. Lots of great photos as well. Would have rated it at 3 stars, but the pictures earned it an extra star from me.
Paseo del excéntrico y cercano Bukowski por la Europa que lo vio nacer. Este relato y las fotos que la acompañan me han hecho ver el lado más humano de este escritor maldito y querer seguir devorando sus obras. El tío de Bukowski le dice que la única obra suya mala es la "Máquina de follar", esa será la siguiente que lea.
Este es un libro para los megafans de Bukowski, es de esos textos que se reagrupan cuando quieren sacar algo nuevo de los escritores que ya han partido. Me declaro megafans, por lo tanto, lo disfruté, en líneas generales habla de viajes entre fiestas, vino y locuras propias de Hank. Termina con un par de poemas.