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Los días corren como caballos salvajes por las montañas
Un libro de poemas escrito por Charles Bukowski para Jane, su primer amor. Estos poemas exploran un lado más emocional de Charles Bukowski.
Ch. Bukowski es uno de los escritores de poesía y prosa contemporáneos más conocidos en Estados Unidos. Hijo de un soldado norteamericano y de una mujer alemana, nació en Andernach (Alemania) en 1920, trasladándose a Baltimore con apenas tres años, y poco después a un suburbio de Los Ángeles, donde vivió la mayor parte de su tiempo. Publicó su primer relato en 1944 y empezó a escribir poesía a la edad de 35 años, llegando a publicar más de 45 libros de poesía, prosa y novela. Se le considera símbolo del "realismo sucio".
Murió en San Pedro (California), el 9 de marzo de 1994, poco después de completar su última novela, Pulp. Sus restos fúnebres fueron conducidos por monjes budistas, y en su lápida se lee: "Dont Try" - "No lo intentes". Todos sus libros han sido traducidos a más de una docena de idiomas.
Ch. Bukowski es uno de los escritores de poesía y prosa contemporáneos más conocidos en Estados Unidos. Hijo de un soldado norteamericano y de una mujer alemana, nació en Andernach (Alemania) en 1920, trasladándose a Baltimore con apenas tres años, y poco después a un suburbio de Los Ángeles, donde vivió la mayor parte de su tiempo. Publicó su primer relato en 1944 y empezó a escribir poesía a la edad de 35 años, llegando a publicar más de 45 libros de poesía, prosa y novela. Se le considera símbolo del "realismo sucio".
Murió en San Pedro (California), el 9 de marzo de 1994, poco después de completar su última novela, Pulp. Sus restos fúnebres fueron conducidos por monjes budistas, y en su lápida se lee: "Dont Try" - "No lo intentes". Todos sus libros han sido traducidos a más de una docena de idiomas.
234 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1969
196 people are currently reading
4837 people want to read
About the author
Charles Bukowski
854 books29.9k followersHenry 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.
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.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 272 reviews
June 12, 2017
Once upon a time I went through a Buk phase, a time when he was the only thing I could read. He got me through some tough times, and for that, I’ll always love the dirty old man.
But that was long ago, so I wondered if he was really as awesome as I remembered, or if he just resonated with me because of where my head was at. So I picked up this early collection of poems and once again I was struck by the depth of meaning and emotion.
Bukowski is important. His is the voice of a people who aren’t usually celebrated in literature ~ bums and whores, low lifes and riff raff, barflies and jailbirds, madmen and drunks. He speaks their language, for they are his people. It is a language that is raw and often vulgar, but it is also sensitive and poignant, beautiful and true.
His portrayal of animals, for instance, reveals his compassion for the marginalized and vulnerable as much as his portrayal of destitute men and women. In “conversation on a telephone,” he describes a bird dying in the jaws of a cat. In “peace,” hunters shoot doves, the symbols of peace. In “ice for eagles,” he presents the goodness of a horse, in contrast to his own abusive father.
But The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills is dedicated to Jane and it is the poems about her that move me the most.
In “for Jane: with all the love I had, which was not enough: —” he looks though his dead loves’ possessions, her dresses, her jewelry:
“and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying, ”
In the end he laments that “they will not/give her back to me. ”
He runs the gamut of emotions as he works through his grief. In “notice,” he vents his helpless anger:
“the swans drown in bilge water,
take down the signs,
test the poisons,
barricade the cow
from the bull,
the peony from the sun,
take the lavender kisses from my night,
put the symphonies out on the streets
like beggars,
get the nails ready,
flog the backs of the saints,
stun frogs and mice for the cat,
burn the enthralling paintings,
piss on the dawn,
my love
is dead. ”
For me, this is the most powerful poem in the collection. It also demonstrates why Bukowski’s vulgar language is not gratuitous, but an often essential component of his poetry. Those last three lines ~ “piss on the dawn,/my love/is dead” ~ cut to the heart of it. Hear the bitterness of his voice, the words uttered through clenched teeth, the pain made manifest in his sweeping dismissal of the whole damn world.
In “spring swan,” he identifies a dead swan with his beloved Jane:
“and I felt guilty
for the swan
as if death
were a thing of shame”
It is a common theme in poetry ~ how life goes on all around the one who grieves for the dead. There is a loneliness in such grief, for the grieving one is an outsider to life.
And then there is the tenderness, the love that transcends death, in “for Jane”:
“what you were
will not happen again. ”
And “remains”:
“this will never leave me:
that I had love
and love died; ”
So again I read these lines and again tears well up in my eyes and if by chance you see them, I will say they are for Buk.
But that was long ago, so I wondered if he was really as awesome as I remembered, or if he just resonated with me because of where my head was at. So I picked up this early collection of poems and once again I was struck by the depth of meaning and emotion.
Bukowski is important. His is the voice of a people who aren’t usually celebrated in literature ~ bums and whores, low lifes and riff raff, barflies and jailbirds, madmen and drunks. He speaks their language, for they are his people. It is a language that is raw and often vulgar, but it is also sensitive and poignant, beautiful and true.
His portrayal of animals, for instance, reveals his compassion for the marginalized and vulnerable as much as his portrayal of destitute men and women. In “conversation on a telephone,” he describes a bird dying in the jaws of a cat. In “peace,” hunters shoot doves, the symbols of peace. In “ice for eagles,” he presents the goodness of a horse, in contrast to his own abusive father.
But The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills is dedicated to Jane and it is the poems about her that move me the most.
In “for Jane: with all the love I had, which was not enough: —” he looks though his dead loves’ possessions, her dresses, her jewelry:
“and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying, ”
In the end he laments that “they will not/give her back to me. ”
He runs the gamut of emotions as he works through his grief. In “notice,” he vents his helpless anger:
“the swans drown in bilge water,
take down the signs,
test the poisons,
barricade the cow
from the bull,
the peony from the sun,
take the lavender kisses from my night,
put the symphonies out on the streets
like beggars,
get the nails ready,
flog the backs of the saints,
stun frogs and mice for the cat,
burn the enthralling paintings,
piss on the dawn,
my love
is dead. ”
For me, this is the most powerful poem in the collection. It also demonstrates why Bukowski’s vulgar language is not gratuitous, but an often essential component of his poetry. Those last three lines ~ “piss on the dawn,/my love/is dead” ~ cut to the heart of it. Hear the bitterness of his voice, the words uttered through clenched teeth, the pain made manifest in his sweeping dismissal of the whole damn world.
In “spring swan,” he identifies a dead swan with his beloved Jane:
“and I felt guilty
for the swan
as if death
were a thing of shame”
It is a common theme in poetry ~ how life goes on all around the one who grieves for the dead. There is a loneliness in such grief, for the grieving one is an outsider to life.
And then there is the tenderness, the love that transcends death, in “for Jane”:
“what you were
will not happen again. ”
And “remains”:
“this will never leave me:
that I had love
and love died; ”
So again I read these lines and again tears well up in my eyes and if by chance you see them, I will say they are for Buk.
January 7, 2022
"I am old when it is fashionable to be young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh. I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love".
Possibly one of the greatest book titles ever penned; its content not too far behind either. Within it, his bullish and virulent commentary still loiters, along with his favourite subject matter: the races, violence, alcoholism, women, everyday mundanity. Yet this collection features more of the tender and human side of Bukowski. A collection of poems dedicated to his first love Jane, he writes with vigour and ingenuity. Poetically, its flow is effortless. Structurally, its technique is sublime. Genius.
Possibly one of the greatest book titles ever penned; its content not too far behind either. Within it, his bullish and virulent commentary still loiters, along with his favourite subject matter: the races, violence, alcoholism, women, everyday mundanity. Yet this collection features more of the tender and human side of Bukowski. A collection of poems dedicated to his first love Jane, he writes with vigour and ingenuity. Poetically, its flow is effortless. Structurally, its technique is sublime. Genius.
March 22, 2011
Reviewing Bukowski by summarizing what he wrote about tends to make a reviewer sound more than a little off to people who are not familiar with his work. All I know for certain is that no other writer has ever felt as real as Bukowski does to me. Both of his feet are grounded in harsh, and at times, small-minded reality. I'm certain I've said this before, but the longer Bukowski's writing is, the less I like it, though I still enjoy everything of his that I have read. It's just that I love his poetry the most, with his short stories and novels in second. A possibly obsessive and difficult idea to read every book of poetry by Bukowski has taken root in my head but we will see how that fares.
While reading this collection over the last week, I would periodically tear a piece from the receipt I was using as a bookmark and save a certain page or poem I liked or wanted to remember above all of the others. When I finished, I had no receipt and too many tiny bits of paper hanging out to mention. That is a sign of an excellent collection.
Many of these poems were either darkly humorous or graphically violent. Above all else, this collection was sad. Bukowski wrote most of, if not all of these poems, after who many consider to be the great love of his life passed away. It shows. If I had not known this before reading, I would have known something had happened to the author considering the subject of many of the poems. Bukowski sounds more human here than in anything else of his I have read.
A few poems did stand out slightly more than others. What a Man I Was opened the book perfectly. freedom, about a man who feels castrated by his cheating significant other and who then decides to literaly castrate himself, followed and the hits kept coming from there. Down Thru the Marching made me incredibly sad. I thoroughly enjoyed What Seems to be the Trouble Gentlemen? and 18 Cars Full of Men Thinking of What Could Have Been was deeply disturbing for some odd reason. sleeping woman was beautiful and Did I Ever Tell You, one of the longer poems, was quite interesting and funny depending on how I read it. So, read this if you like real poetry, manly poetry, honest poetry, uncomplicated and deceptively simple poetry. And because I just have to include at least one of the poems I mentioned, here is the shortest of my favorites:
Down Thru the Marching
they came down thru the marching,
down thru St. Paul, St. Louis, Atlanta,
Memphis, New Orleans, they came
down thru the marching, thru
balloons and popcorn, past drugstores
and blondes and whirling cats,
they came down thru the marching
scaring the goats and the kids in
the fields, banging against the minds
of the sick in their hot beds, and
down in the cellar I got out the
colt. I ripped a hole in the screen
for better vision and when the legs
came walking by on top of my head,
I got a colonel, a major and 3 lieutenants
before the band stopped playing;
and now it's like a war, uniforms
everywhere, behind cars and brush,
and plang plang plang
my cellar is all fireworks, and I
fire back, the colt as hot as a
baked potato, I fire back and sing
sing, "Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord; He is
tramping out the vintage..."
While reading this collection over the last week, I would periodically tear a piece from the receipt I was using as a bookmark and save a certain page or poem I liked or wanted to remember above all of the others. When I finished, I had no receipt and too many tiny bits of paper hanging out to mention. That is a sign of an excellent collection.
Many of these poems were either darkly humorous or graphically violent. Above all else, this collection was sad. Bukowski wrote most of, if not all of these poems, after who many consider to be the great love of his life passed away. It shows. If I had not known this before reading, I would have known something had happened to the author considering the subject of many of the poems. Bukowski sounds more human here than in anything else of his I have read.
A few poems did stand out slightly more than others. What a Man I Was opened the book perfectly. freedom, about a man who feels castrated by his cheating significant other and who then decides to literaly castrate himself, followed and the hits kept coming from there. Down Thru the Marching made me incredibly sad. I thoroughly enjoyed What Seems to be the Trouble Gentlemen? and 18 Cars Full of Men Thinking of What Could Have Been was deeply disturbing for some odd reason. sleeping woman was beautiful and Did I Ever Tell You, one of the longer poems, was quite interesting and funny depending on how I read it. So, read this if you like real poetry, manly poetry, honest poetry, uncomplicated and deceptively simple poetry. And because I just have to include at least one of the poems I mentioned, here is the shortest of my favorites:
Down Thru the Marching
they came down thru the marching,
down thru St. Paul, St. Louis, Atlanta,
Memphis, New Orleans, they came
down thru the marching, thru
balloons and popcorn, past drugstores
and blondes and whirling cats,
they came down thru the marching
scaring the goats and the kids in
the fields, banging against the minds
of the sick in their hot beds, and
down in the cellar I got out the
colt. I ripped a hole in the screen
for better vision and when the legs
came walking by on top of my head,
I got a colonel, a major and 3 lieutenants
before the band stopped playing;
and now it's like a war, uniforms
everywhere, behind cars and brush,
and plang plang plang
my cellar is all fireworks, and I
fire back, the colt as hot as a
baked potato, I fire back and sing
sing, "Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord; He is
tramping out the vintage..."
August 28, 2018
'I shot out the moon
And then I shot out the stars one by one
And then
I shot out every light in town
And pretty soon it began to get dark
Real dark
Just the way I like it'
And then I shot out the stars one by one
And then
I shot out every light in town
And pretty soon it began to get dark
Real dark
Just the way I like it'
November 8, 2017
Bukowski never disappoints. He inspires me to keep on writing in an ugly world. He is the epitome of poets in a modern, materialistic world. I love everything he writes. His form and technique in writing poetry surpass so many other poets of his time. He was never all that popular, which show you how popularity means nothing in a poet's mind. The true beauty of this book is how he composes his words to reflect his life. His topics include the races, women, alcohol, the neighbours, drinking, more women, the homeless, and his day to day life. We get a glimpse into his lifestyle. Books like this are gems in the modern world of poetry. It won no awards. It stands the test of time. It is prolific and inspiring to any poet who understands the torture of writing, the pressures of society, the strangling of rules; read this book, if you love poetry. Get inspired. I highly recommend Bukowski. He is one of my favourites. Also, read it slowly. Take your time. Poetry books are meant to be introspective, not read in ten minutes.
April 23, 2021
3.5/5
how to describe bukowski's poems?lucid,frank,candid,unambiguous,vigorous, explicit, resilient etc etc.his poems are not too "poetic",they are more like candid conversation and confession.some poems are really striking and some are not.my favourite lines from this book are
"I do not want your arms
i do not want your
shoulders
i have me
you have you
let that
be"
"i don't know,he said
i think i'm going
to kill myself.
it doesn't matter, I
said
it's going to happen anyway."
how to describe bukowski's poems?lucid,frank,candid,unambiguous,vigorous, explicit, resilient etc etc.his poems are not too "poetic",they are more like candid conversation and confession.some poems are really striking and some are not.my favourite lines from this book are
"I do not want your arms
i do not want your
shoulders
i have me
you have you
let that
be"
"i don't know,he said
i think i'm going
to kill myself.
it doesn't matter, I
said
it's going to happen anyway."
July 26, 2015
Reading Bukowski is very similar to reading chocolate — but without gaining any weight! To most girls this sound almost like heaven, but I do not think Bukowski is for everyone, especially not girls who prefers classic poetry like John Keats or Shakespeare who both manage to wrap the reader in pretty, pink silk with their words, and make every girl feel almost like a princess, but with Bukowski it is very different. Bukowski drank a lot, so therefore his poetry is very often about drinking, Bukowski spend lots of time being intimate with woman, so therefore his poetry is very often about being intimate with woman - but not necessary in the your-body-is-a-wonderland kind of way, but very often in the a man-has-needs way.
That said, I do not consider Bukowski to be a heartless jerk who only uses woman to get sensual pleasure. I consider him a very genius, and to prove he is poetry is not just about rough sex, please read the following poem:
"I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick
up her lovely
dress,
all her loveliness gone,
and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods,
chips of blinking things,
idols, pills, bread,
fathoms, risks,
knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of two gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this
and I know
her dress upon my arm
but
they will not
give her back to me. "
If that is not love, I do not know what love is. If that is not loss, I do not know what loss is. I really think this genius, as I called him earlier, also writes about other things besides drinking and sex, he writes about feelings, about love because that is what poetry is also about; love and feelings.
I do not think The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills by Charles Bukowski was nearly as great as his The Last Night of the Earth Poems, but it is also lovely to see what else a magnificent writer was able to create, and I can without doubt say that I will definitely keep reading his books, and so should you.
That said, I do not consider Bukowski to be a heartless jerk who only uses woman to get sensual pleasure. I consider him a very genius, and to prove he is poetry is not just about rough sex, please read the following poem:
"I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick
up her lovely
dress,
all her loveliness gone,
and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods,
chips of blinking things,
idols, pills, bread,
fathoms, risks,
knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of two gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this
and I know
her dress upon my arm
but
they will not
give her back to me. "
If that is not love, I do not know what love is. If that is not loss, I do not know what loss is. I really think this genius, as I called him earlier, also writes about other things besides drinking and sex, he writes about feelings, about love because that is what poetry is also about; love and feelings.
I do not think The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills by Charles Bukowski was nearly as great as his The Last Night of the Earth Poems, but it is also lovely to see what else a magnificent writer was able to create, and I can without doubt say that I will definitely keep reading his books, and so should you.
October 13, 2019
The tigers have found me
And I don't care.
Ամբողջ Բուկովսկին` մի նախադասության մեջ
And I don't care.
Ամբողջ Բուկովսկին` մի նախադասության մեջ
April 7, 2022
This is my favourite book of all time; I read it at least annually since I first encountered it in 1989, 20 years after it was initially published.
Anyone that has read Charles Bukowski before is familiar with his subject matter; love and loss and poverty and despair and alcoholism and mental anguish and truth and beauty, all filtered through the prism of his eyes and the life he lived on a daily basis. This book is no different. But it is a collection of the very best words and observations on all of these aspects of the world he knew and committed to paper.
There is also more humour and intelligence in the poetry, more absurdity and imagination in The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills, and that speaks to a greater depth as both a writer and a human than simply being a "dirty old man" as he is so mythically assumed.
The last attribute I have to mention, and rarely see written or spoken of, is the "music" of the poetry; Bukowski poetry doesn't rhyme (thank God!) but there is a flow to the language, the arrangement on the page(s) that is subtle but perceptible and compelling. With much credit to the editor(s) as they also created a sort of flow with the choices of pieces selected and arranged throughout the book, like listening to a full and complete album, satisfyingly from beginning to end.
In my mind this is a seminal and essential work in his catalogue. The poetry will break your heart, shock, inspire, make you laugh, and reflect on both his life and your own, and that's what the very best poetry does.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Anyone that has read Charles Bukowski before is familiar with his subject matter; love and loss and poverty and despair and alcoholism and mental anguish and truth and beauty, all filtered through the prism of his eyes and the life he lived on a daily basis. This book is no different. But it is a collection of the very best words and observations on all of these aspects of the world he knew and committed to paper.
There is also more humour and intelligence in the poetry, more absurdity and imagination in The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills, and that speaks to a greater depth as both a writer and a human than simply being a "dirty old man" as he is so mythically assumed.
The last attribute I have to mention, and rarely see written or spoken of, is the "music" of the poetry; Bukowski poetry doesn't rhyme (thank God!) but there is a flow to the language, the arrangement on the page(s) that is subtle but perceptible and compelling. With much credit to the editor(s) as they also created a sort of flow with the choices of pieces selected and arranged throughout the book, like listening to a full and complete album, satisfyingly from beginning to end.
In my mind this is a seminal and essential work in his catalogue. The poetry will break your heart, shock, inspire, make you laugh, and reflect on both his life and your own, and that's what the very best poetry does.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
April 21, 2023
Bukowski is not above UsInG cApItAlS in the same way as that one spobgebob meme when talking about stuff he clearly thinks is asinine or maddening which is pretty funny. Mostly this is just sad as hell though.
December 17, 2017
One of the weakest collections of poetry that I’ve ever read by Bukowski. There’s not enough anger, resentment, sadness and overall vitriol in this one. It’s too even keeled and upbeat and not characteristic of his writing at all. There weren’t even a few gems here and there in this one. Just mediocrity almost the entire way.
June 19, 2015
Bukowski is the real deal. Good poems about cats, women, drinking, The American Dream, the death of his lover, war, being a new dad, a bullfight (described better than Hemingway did) etc... Life, etc...
August 6, 2015
Contains some of my favorite Buk poems, especially the ones he wrote for Jane.
November 16, 2020
dnf at 13%
thought this was shallow and had no substance at all.
thought this was shallow and had no substance at all.
Read
April 9, 2025Ο ΓΥΡΟΣ ΤΟΥ ΚΑΡΚΙΝΟΥ ΣΕ ΟΓΔΟΝΤΑ ΜΕΡΕΣ
Μέρος Ε’ Οι μέρες που βουρούν σαν τους αππάρους.
Και μετά τον αβυσσαλέα κουραστικό Μουστακαλή αυτοκράτορα πήρα κάτι που ένιωσα σαν βάλσαμο: Μπουκόφσκι.
Εξαιρώντας τις 6 προηγούμενες ποιητικές συλλογές που είναι εξαντλημένες και βρίσκεις την φθηνότερη στα €100 και την ακριβότερη πάνω από €3000, η συγκεκριμένη είναι η πρώτη ποιητική συλλογή του Μπουκόφσκι που κυκλοφορεί σε προσιτή τιμή.
Έχοντας διαβάσει τις προηγούμενες χρονιές τα 6 μυθιστορήματά του και τις 3 κύριες συλλογές διηγημάτων αποφάσισα να γνωριστώ από την αρχή με τον Μπουκόφσκι ξεκινώντας με αυτή την συλλογή που εκδώθηκε στις αρχές της καριέρας του.
Ευκολοξέχαστα ποιήματα όπως και η πρόζα του ΑΛΛΑ απολαυστικά όσο τα διαβάζεις. Ίσως τα ξαναφυλλομετρήσω ξανά πριν συνεχίσω με το επόμενο έργο του Μπουκόφσκι που πλησιάζει.
Και ναι οι μέρες *βουρούν σαν τους **αππάρους και δεν το καταλάβεις. Ξεκινώντας αυτό το βιβλίο έκλεισα ένα μήνα χημειοθεραπείας. Μου έμενε άλλος ένας.
*τρέχουν
**άλογα
Μέρος Ε’ Οι μέρες που βουρούν σαν τους αππάρους.
Και μετά τον αβυσσαλέα κουραστικό Μουστακαλή αυτοκράτορα πήρα κάτι που ένιωσα σαν βάλσαμο: Μπουκόφσκι.
Εξαιρώντας τις 6 προηγούμενες ποιητικές συλλογές που είναι εξαντλημένες και βρίσκεις την φθηνότερη στα €100 και την ακριβότερη πάνω από €3000, η συγκεκριμένη είναι η πρώτη ποιητική συλλογή του Μπουκόφσκι που κυκλοφορεί σε προσιτή τιμή.
Έχοντας διαβάσει τις προηγούμενες χρονιές τα 6 μυθιστορήματά του και τις 3 κύριες συλλογές διηγημάτων αποφάσισα να γνωριστώ από την αρχή με τον Μπουκόφσκι ξεκινώντας με αυτή την συλλογή που εκδώθηκε στις αρχές της καριέρας του.
Ευκολοξέχαστα ποιήματα όπως και η πρόζα του ΑΛΛΑ απολαυστικά όσο τα διαβάζεις. Ίσως τα ξαναφυλλομετρήσω ξανά πριν συνεχίσω με το επόμενο έργο του Μπουκόφσκι που πλησιάζει.
Και ναι οι μέρες *βουρούν σαν τους **αππάρους και δεν το καταλάβεις. Ξεκινώντας αυτό το βιβλίο έκλεισα ένα μήνα χημειοθεραπείας. Μου έμενε άλλος ένας.
*τρέχουν
**άλογα
Read
May 4, 2025I like Bukowski when he talks about rats and oranges and the outline of humans and horses and generally piles the everyday into a little bucket for us
I don’t like Bukowski when he just has his dick out pissin and shittin and raping women. Tbh I am partial to a shit and piss it’s just the constant degradation and abuse of women in so many of his poems I just cannot get behind. An intrusive thought here and there? Sure! Constantly??? Go away
I don’t like Bukowski when he just has his dick out pissin and shittin and raping women. Tbh I am partial to a shit and piss it’s just the constant degradation and abuse of women in so many of his poems I just cannot get behind. An intrusive thought here and there? Sure! Constantly??? Go away
August 25, 2017
بعض الناس لا يصابون قط بلوثة الجنون
ايّ حياة رهيبة
تلك التي يعيشونها
ايّ حياة رهيبة
تلك التي يعيشونها
September 5, 2018
I dig Bukowski’s poems. Very masculine. Misanthropic. Bitter. But I dig it nonetheless.
May 31, 2024
After brief flashes of beauty in some of the earlier poems I found the rest of them very difficult to get through.
I can definitely appreciate their merit but not for me.
I can definitely appreciate their merit but not for me.
February 8, 2022
my eighth bukowski book and it keeps getting funner
February 3, 2017
This has been surprisingly good so far.
Initially, I had my doubts about how a guy who writes such gutsy, ball-grippin', raw prose could write poetry but my doubts were soon dispelled. While I didn't like the first few poems that much, the more I read, the better this book got.
I would divide these Buk poems into three categories: 1) lame/poor, 2) opaque/weird/inexplicable (but also, obviously, charming) and 3) great/fantastic. So it's a bit of a mixed bag and there are some which you feel should have been left out but come to think of it, just about every poet I know of has released some pisspoor poems. Just take any book of poetry by Kerouac, Ginsberg or Corso or even Ben Jonson for that matter, and there's always a poem in there somewhere which makes you wonder how it managed to slip through the editor dragnets.
And I've been giving that a lot of thought and here is my hypothesis. Poets are not just on one wavelength. They go through many phases and tune into various 'channels' so it's quite understandable if we as readers don't sometimes get it.
My main gripe with this book, and it's a small one, is some of the minor poems should have been left out because they sound more like prose than poems (and don't do anything special to me but may be inspiring to somebody else who happen to be on that wavelength at that particular moment).
As my friend succinctly put it, "if it does it for you, then that's art". I thought about this a lot too and felt that it made a lot of sense to sometimes define and evaluate art in purely subjective terms.
So, the verdict is that this book does do it for me most of the time. Hank's early prose and poetry is certainly wonderful and I think this is as good a place as any to dive into his work if you haven't already. Can't wait to read Love is a Dog From Hell next.
My favorite poem of this collection so far is called For Jane.
Have decided to revisit Bukowski and pick up this book again - a book I read over 4 years ago. So far, I'm enjoying it more than last time.
I think I was a bit rough and tough on Buk the first time with this one. On second read, I thought that this was pretty impressive - mostly. There are still a few weird, bewildering poems which don't make any sense but I have the feeling that that has been done intentionally. I call these types of poems 'atmospheric' rather than 'semantic'.
But when Buk is good, he is VERY good and POWERFUL - some of the poems are like a good, solid shot of classy scotch warmly hitting the gut, and spreading. It feels good, it tastes good and the after-taste lingers with you for a while.
As good a place to start as any for Buk's poetry.
Initially, I had my doubts about how a guy who writes such gutsy, ball-grippin', raw prose could write poetry but my doubts were soon dispelled. While I didn't like the first few poems that much, the more I read, the better this book got.
I would divide these Buk poems into three categories: 1) lame/poor, 2) opaque/weird/inexplicable (but also, obviously, charming) and 3) great/fantastic. So it's a bit of a mixed bag and there are some which you feel should have been left out but come to think of it, just about every poet I know of has released some pisspoor poems. Just take any book of poetry by Kerouac, Ginsberg or Corso or even Ben Jonson for that matter, and there's always a poem in there somewhere which makes you wonder how it managed to slip through the editor dragnets.
And I've been giving that a lot of thought and here is my hypothesis. Poets are not just on one wavelength. They go through many phases and tune into various 'channels' so it's quite understandable if we as readers don't sometimes get it.
My main gripe with this book, and it's a small one, is some of the minor poems should have been left out because they sound more like prose than poems (and don't do anything special to me but may be inspiring to somebody else who happen to be on that wavelength at that particular moment).
As my friend succinctly put it, "if it does it for you, then that's art". I thought about this a lot too and felt that it made a lot of sense to sometimes define and evaluate art in purely subjective terms.
So, the verdict is that this book does do it for me most of the time. Hank's early prose and poetry is certainly wonderful and I think this is as good a place as any to dive into his work if you haven't already. Can't wait to read Love is a Dog From Hell next.
My favorite poem of this collection so far is called For Jane.
Have decided to revisit Bukowski and pick up this book again - a book I read over 4 years ago. So far, I'm enjoying it more than last time.
I think I was a bit rough and tough on Buk the first time with this one. On second read, I thought that this was pretty impressive - mostly. There are still a few weird, bewildering poems which don't make any sense but I have the feeling that that has been done intentionally. I call these types of poems 'atmospheric' rather than 'semantic'.
But when Buk is good, he is VERY good and POWERFUL - some of the poems are like a good, solid shot of classy scotch warmly hitting the gut, and spreading. It feels good, it tastes good and the after-taste lingers with you for a while.
As good a place to start as any for Buk's poetry.
February 2, 2019
Obviously I did not go and buy a volume of a poet's work because I hated it. I must have come across some of the better stuff in an anthology or something, which is where I am deriving all my poetry buying from now that I'm pursuing it seriously. Yet, by the end of this 204-page volume, my conclusion is that Bukowksi is a terrible person, a terrible poet, who wrote gross nonsense, and I LOATHE him.
the old movies: Or the time they found a Jap nurse in the shell-hole
who had been hit in the breast and wanted some sulfa
and one of the boys said, "Hey, you think we can fuck
her before she dies?"
Like what the FUCK. Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD. I can take my car out today and drive it into a crowd of pedestrians and so could anyone else who owns a car, but no one should give us a rally-driving trophy for it.
what seems to be the trouble, gentlemen?
and had my hand halfway up the ass
of a broad old enough to be my grandmother
In case you had never heard, Bukowksi is a rotten misogynist of the sort that makes you want to castrate #yesallmen.
I have nothing against 2 men sleeping together
so long as I am not one of those 2
men.
The worst thing is I bet he got KUDUS for being this BIG about it.
but to have any of these would take weeks and months
of torture - introduction, niceties, conversation that
cleaves the soul like a rusty axe
'these' are women. I read that as 'HEY, I'M A RAPIST.' Also: FUCK YOU.
one woman has beautiful legs that she doesn't hide
and I keep looking at her legs until she covers them with a
blue sweater.
RAPIST! RAPIST! RAPIST!
My notes say:
1. Get a job
2. Stop spending your money on gambling
3, Help your wife
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
PS. None of it is even good poetry. Even the ones that aren't racist, misogynistic, rapist dog-whistles. NONE.
the old movies: Or the time they found a Jap nurse in the shell-hole
who had been hit in the breast and wanted some sulfa
and one of the boys said, "Hey, you think we can fuck
her before she dies?"
Like what the FUCK. Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD. I can take my car out today and drive it into a crowd of pedestrians and so could anyone else who owns a car, but no one should give us a rally-driving trophy for it.
what seems to be the trouble, gentlemen?
and had my hand halfway up the ass
of a broad old enough to be my grandmother
In case you had never heard, Bukowksi is a rotten misogynist of the sort that makes you want to castrate #yesallmen.
I have nothing against 2 men sleeping together
so long as I am not one of those 2
men.
The worst thing is I bet he got KUDUS for being this BIG about it.
but to have any of these would take weeks and months
of torture - introduction, niceties, conversation that
cleaves the soul like a rusty axe
'these' are women. I read that as 'HEY, I'M A RAPIST.' Also: FUCK YOU.
one woman has beautiful legs that she doesn't hide
and I keep looking at her legs until she covers them with a
blue sweater.
RAPIST! RAPIST! RAPIST!
My notes say:
1. Get a job
2. Stop spending your money on gambling
3, Help your wife
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
PS. None of it is even good poetry. Even the ones that aren't racist, misogynistic, rapist dog-whistles. NONE.
January 1, 2016
This book is Bukowski's finest collection of poetry ever published. As with all prolific writers, Bukowski's books often come with more filler than sustenance- that is not the case here. The poems written for/about Jane highlight his most soulful collection. The usual mask of nonchalance has been stripped away, along with the chains of his self-created tough guy/barfly image. The tenderness and warmth are unfiltered by his masculine facade. Moving, desolate, and often humorous, this book is nearly flawless. It is written in such a way that anyone can read and understand. It isn't written in a flowery, deeply symbolic style that makes younger readers hate poetry. This book is from the heart, mind and fists of a man who has loved, suffered, hated and laughed. Anyone who has done likewise should be able to appreciate the raw beauty presented within. Make no mistake, the alcoholism, sex and madness that made Bukowski famous are all represented here as well. This is the book to read if you are interested in the most three-dimensional portrayal of the late poet.
December 6, 2012
read this and some other buk stuff many years ago, thought i'd revisit it...so, not near as sexist as i remember. almost as crotchety and curmudgeonous as i remember. just about as raw and depressingly uplifting as i remember. just about as weirdly funny at parts as i remember.
bukowski jabs and jabs at the open wounds of this life and society. oh does he jab. he is actually quite sympathetic, empathetic and yes cynical drunk. often imitated (including by yours truly in some ways), vastly appealing by how unappealing he paints the facts of himself and this world. not a hero (which is a stance he has since made heroic) perhaps genius, and yes a good poet. bukowski.
bukowski jabs and jabs at the open wounds of this life and society. oh does he jab. he is actually quite sympathetic, empathetic and yes cynical drunk. often imitated (including by yours truly in some ways), vastly appealing by how unappealing he paints the facts of himself and this world. not a hero (which is a stance he has since made heroic) perhaps genius, and yes a good poet. bukowski.
January 15, 2024
There is not one lazy poem in this book for me. I love 'these mad windows that taste life and cut me if I go through them' . I love the the way he expresses his disgust for having to recite his own poems in 'on getting famous and being asked: can you recite? can you be there at nine?' This collection is simple, sharp and funny. Absolute favorite is 'screw game' in which he pretty much sums up a dark common ground in our pathetic existence.
'The horses were more real than
my father
more real than God
and they could have stepped on my
feet but they didn't
they could have done all kinds of horrors
but they didn't"
-from 'ice for the eagles'
Also, the poem, 'the cat' ^..^
'The horses were more real than
my father
more real than God
and they could have stepped on my
feet but they didn't
they could have done all kinds of horrors
but they didn't"
-from 'ice for the eagles'
Also, the poem, 'the cat' ^..^
May 15, 2008
I've read better. This is a collection of Buk's earlier works and it lacks the balls he would write with later. Cajones. Huevos. Yes, balls. It lacks them. Well, I mean, they're there, but they're like...uh, they haven't dropped yet, so to speak. Anyhow, I hope you now have a strong, virile image of a large hairy scrotum sack swaying before your face in a musky breeze...
June 19, 2015
Love almost everything bukowski so maybe I'm trippin' but this one just wasn't hittin'
February 16, 2024
Someone saw me reading this and said yuck out loud
January 29, 2025
Boże co za wypociny. Rasistowskie, mizoginiczne, homofobiczne, pełno mowy o gwałcie GÓWNO. Tragedia. Parę ładnych zdań i to TYLE. Większość do kosza jak dla mnie. Jego stosunek do kobiet jest OBRZYDLIWY. Ma szacunek tylko do jednej, którą kochał i jedynie te wiersze o jego tęsknocie i miłości do niej mi się podobały. Reszta jest niespójna (tak wiem, na specjalnie ma taką być bo ma pokazać jak się nie może pozbierać w życiu). Wszystkie kobiety przedstawione oprócz Jane to albo są opisywane jako łatwe do zaliczenia lub jako prostytutki lub że ktoś mógłby je zgwa*cić - obrzydlistwo po prostu. Gdyby żył teraz w Polsce pewnie by na konfederację głosował i modlił się do Andrew Tate’a
Jego tzw "poezja" 🤢
„kiss me, daddy, hold me in your arms!
I walked over and mauled her breasts.
I drink too much beer, she said,
I can’t help it if I piss.
we fucked for 17 days. ”
„one of the terrible things is really being in bed night after night with a woman you no longer want to screw. „they get old, they don’t look very good anymore—they even tend to snore, lose spirit.”
„She paid for the drink. “You’re looking for trouble,” she told me. “Bitch,” I said, “I have been trying to commit suicide for years.”
THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE??
Jego tzw "poezja" 🤢
„kiss me, daddy, hold me in your arms!
I walked over and mauled her breasts.
I drink too much beer, she said,
I can’t help it if I piss.
we fucked for 17 days. ”
„one of the terrible things is really being in bed night after night with a woman you no longer want to screw. „they get old, they don’t look very good anymore—they even tend to snore, lose spirit.”
„She paid for the drink. “You’re looking for trouble,” she told me. “Bitch,” I said, “I have been trying to commit suicide for years.”
THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE??
November 4, 2024
for Jane: with all the love I had, which was not enough:
"I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black,
this thing that moved once around flesh,
and I call God a liar, I say anything that moved like that or knew my name could never die
in the common verity of dying, and I pick up her lovely dress,
all her loveliness gone, and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods, chips of blinking things, idols, pills, bread, fathoms, risks, knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of 2 gone quite mad without a chance, hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this, I lean on all of this and I know:
her dress upon my arm: but
they will not
give her back to me."
for Jane:
"225 days under grass and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?
in this room the hours of love still make shadows.
when you left you took almost everything.
I kneel in the nights before tigers
that will not let me be.
what you were will not happen again.
the tigers have found me and I do not care."
"I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black,
this thing that moved once around flesh,
and I call God a liar, I say anything that moved like that or knew my name could never die
in the common verity of dying, and I pick up her lovely dress,
all her loveliness gone, and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods, chips of blinking things, idols, pills, bread, fathoms, risks, knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of 2 gone quite mad without a chance, hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this, I lean on all of this and I know:
her dress upon my arm: but
they will not
give her back to me."
for Jane:
"225 days under grass and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?
in this room the hours of love still make shadows.
when you left you took almost everything.
I kneel in the nights before tigers
that will not let me be.
what you were will not happen again.
the tigers have found me and I do not care."
Displaying 1 - 30 of 272 reviews