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Sur l'écriture
Une anthologie de textes inédits sur l’écriture, le quotidien d’une véritable légende américaine, icône de la contre-culture.
Ces lettres aux éditeurs, directeurs de revues, amis et confrères écrivains pour la première fois publiées, dessinent un portrait intime du grand poète tour à tour poignant, glacial, iconoclaste et souvent hilarant. On y découvre le rapport inquiet au travail, l’érudition littéraire, mais aussi le mordant, l’intransigeance de celui qui a donné voix aux opprimés et dépravés de la société, dans des phrases mémorables ponctuées de moments de grâce.
Ces lettres aux éditeurs, directeurs de revues, amis et confrères écrivains pour la première fois publiées, dessinent un portrait intime du grand poète tour à tour poignant, glacial, iconoclaste et souvent hilarant. On y découvre le rapport inquiet au travail, l’érudition littéraire, mais aussi le mordant, l’intransigeance de celui qui a donné voix aux opprimés et dépravés de la société, dans des phrases mémorables ponctuées de moments de grâce.
247 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2014
530 people are currently reading
5807 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 316 reviews
May 21, 2018
I opened this up in a bookshop, and it was like sticking my thumb into a power socket. A letter he wrote in 1963 to John William Corrington, I won't quote it, it's too long, but my heart was pounding and I could feel adrenaline prickling down my forearms. I carried it to the counter, still open, bought it, staggered out into the street and sat in the roughest bar I could find – a place called the Highlander, with boarded-up windows – and just sat there drinking and reading this and scrawling encouragements over the pages in biro.
I haven't read any Bukowski in years. The last time I read much of him was when I was living in South America, nearly twenty years ago, a time when I was also writing a lot, probably not coincidentally since the moods from which I write are very similar to the moods that Buk is concerned with getting down on paper. So he speaks to me. And this is…intense, beautiful. I hate books about writing in general, all those god-awful self-help manuals about constructing story arcs and developing character motivations I find positively offensive, even stuff like that Stephen King book that everyone loves are just anathema to me. Bukowski did not hold with any of that shit as these extracts from his letters make clear.
His writing is so beautifully rooted in the world he lived, and so detached from the literary scene.
His writing was plain, direct, ungrammatical when necessary, but never for deliberate effect.
He never censors himself, he's offensive and crude and true to the life he's known, and you can feel that in every word – you can feel the difference between this stuff, that is done out of honesty, and the kind of writers who are putting it on to sound tough and gritty.
What I love, what I absolutely love about this passage is that in a sense I don't really agree with any of it, it's the kind of macho bullshit that appeals when you're a kid, at the very least it's misleading, arguably pretty sexist, and so on and so forth, but he feels it, and he writes it down, and he pushes the thought right through until – he hits something aphoristic. The last line or two there is excellent, and he earned it. You can see him earning it.
The writers he admires are the ones who, in his assessment, have lived life and not just written literature.
The ones he doesn't admire are those who write for fame or academia or, basically, any reason other than compulsive necessity.
Some people are turned off Bukowski because he swears a lot, he objectifies women, he's a bit of an asshole. But he's so true, he's so honest, I would take this honest misogyny a hundred times over the laboured respect of someone telling me a fucking lie designed to make themselves look good, which is what, after reading Bukowski, you can't helping feeling most of literature is.
Besides, even if you don't like what he's writing about, if you're interested in writing there is so much to learn from him. Which makes a book like this an ideal way of consuming some Bukowski, and understanding the compulsion that underlies all his work – that underlies, he would say, any great work.
I haven't read any Bukowski in years. The last time I read much of him was when I was living in South America, nearly twenty years ago, a time when I was also writing a lot, probably not coincidentally since the moods from which I write are very similar to the moods that Buk is concerned with getting down on paper. So he speaks to me. And this is…intense, beautiful. I hate books about writing in general, all those god-awful self-help manuals about constructing story arcs and developing character motivations I find positively offensive, even stuff like that Stephen King book that everyone loves are just anathema to me. Bukowski did not hold with any of that shit as these extracts from his letters make clear.
I do not believe in technique or schools or sissies…I believe in grasping at the curtains like a drunken monk…and tearing them down, down, down…
His writing is so beautifully rooted in the world he lived, and so detached from the literary scene.
I can't stand writers or editors or anybody who wants to talk Art. For 3 years I lived in a skid row hotel—before my hemorrhage—and got drunk every night with an x-con, the hotel maid, an Indian, a gal who looked like she wore a wig but didn't, and 3 or 4 drifters. Nobody knew Shostakovich from Shelley Winters and we didn't give a damn. The main thing was sending runners out for liquor when we ran dry.
His writing was plain, direct, ungrammatical when necessary, but never for deliberate effect.
I think I could come on pretty heavy. I can toss vocabulary like torn-up mutual tickets, but I think eventually the words that will be saved are the small stone-like words that are said and meant. When men really mean something they don't say it in 14 letter words. Ask any woman. They know.
He never censors himself, he's offensive and crude and true to the life he's known, and you can feel that in every word – you can feel the difference between this stuff, that is done out of honesty, and the kind of writers who are putting it on to sound tough and gritty.
Besides, it pays to be crude, buddy, it PAYS. When these women who have read my poetry knock on my door and I ask them in and pour them a drink, and we talk about Brahms or Carrington or Flash Gordon, they know all along that it is GOING TO HAPPEN, and that makes all the talk nice
because pretty soon the bastard is just going
to walk over and grab me
and get started
because he's been around
he's CRUDE
And so, since they expect it, I do it, and this gets a lot of barriers and small-talk out of the way fast. Women like bulls, children, apes. The pretty boys and the expounders upon the universe don't stand a chance. They end up jacking-off in the closet.
There's a guy down at work, he says, “I recite Shakespeare to them.”
He's still a virgin. They know he's scared. Well, we're all scared but we go ahead.
What I love, what I absolutely love about this passage is that in a sense I don't really agree with any of it, it's the kind of macho bullshit that appeals when you're a kid, at the very least it's misleading, arguably pretty sexist, and so on and so forth, but he feels it, and he writes it down, and he pushes the thought right through until – he hits something aphoristic. The last line or two there is excellent, and he earned it. You can see him earning it.
The writers he admires are the ones who, in his assessment, have lived life and not just written literature.
There have been some breakthroughs through the centuries, of course—Dos[toyevsky], Celine, early Hem[ingway], early Camus, the short stories of Turgenev, and there was Knut Hamsun—Hunger, all of it—Kafka, and the prowling pre-revolutionary Gorky…a few others…but most of it has been a terrible bag of shit.
The ones he doesn't admire are those who write for fame or academia or, basically, any reason other than compulsive necessity.
A writer is not a writer because he has written some books. A writer is not a writer because he teaches literature. A writer is only a writer if he can write now, tonight, this minute.
--------
When you write only to get famous you shit it away. I don't want to make rules but if there is one it is: the only writers who write well are those who must write in order not to go mad.
Some people are turned off Bukowski because he swears a lot, he objectifies women, he's a bit of an asshole. But he's so true, he's so honest, I would take this honest misogyny a hundred times over the laboured respect of someone telling me a fucking lie designed to make themselves look good, which is what, after reading Bukowski, you can't helping feeling most of literature is.
Besides, even if you don't like what he's writing about, if you're interested in writing there is so much to learn from him. Which makes a book like this an ideal way of consuming some Bukowski, and understanding the compulsion that underlies all his work – that underlies, he would say, any great work.
And when you can't come up with the next line, it doesn't mean you're old, it means you're dead. It's all right to be dead, it happens. I yearn for a postponement, though, as do all of us. One more sheet of paper into this machine, under this hot desk lamp, stuck within the wine, re-lighting these cigarette stubs […]. This is a life beyond all mortal and moral considerations. This is it. Fixed like this. And when my skeleton rests upon the bottom of the casket, should I have that, nothing will be able to subtract from these splendid nights, sitting here at this machine.
Want to read
July 30, 2022i'm becoming more & more of a red flag as each day goes by.
June 27, 2019
Η απόρριψη κάνει καλό στην ψυχή. Τώρα η ψυχή μου είναι ένα μουλάρι.
Για πες ρε Θείε Τσαρλς, πως το κατάφερες αυτό να το κάνουμε και εμείς;
Ενδιαφέρον ανάγνωσμα, πάντα καθηλωτικός Μπουκόφσκι. Διασκεδαστικό και συνάμα βαθύ. Χαοτικό, διασκεδαστικό με δόσεις σοφίας. Μου άρεσε πολύ και μου ξαναθύμισε πόσο θα ήθελα να πιω ένα καφέ με το Μπουκόφσκι και να κάθομαι να τον ακούω να μου μιλάει για τη ζωή.
Για πες ρε Θείε Τσαρλς, πως το κατάφερες αυτό να το κάνουμε και εμείς;
Ενδιαφέρον ανάγνωσμα, πάντα καθηλωτικός Μπουκόφσκι. Διασκεδαστικό και συνάμα βαθύ. Χαοτικό, διασκεδαστικό με δόσεις σοφίας. Μου άρεσε πολύ και μου ξαναθύμισε πόσο θα ήθελα να πιω ένα καφέ με το Μπουκόφσκι και να κάθομαι να τον ακούω να μου μιλάει για τη ζωή.
Read
March 28, 2021Writing
Often it is the only thing
between you and
impossibility.
No drink, no woman's love,
no wealth can match it.
Nothing can save you
except
writing.
It keeps the walls from
failing.
the hordes from closing
in.
It blasts the darkness.
Writing is the ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest god of all
the gods.
Writing stalks dead. It
knows no quit.
and writing laughs at itself,
at pain.
It is the last expectation,
the last explanation.
That's what it is.
( blank gun silencer - 1991 )
Often it is the only thing
between you and
impossibility.
No drink, no woman's love,
no wealth can match it.
Nothing can save you
except
writing.
It keeps the walls from
failing.
the hordes from closing
in.
It blasts the darkness.
Writing is the ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest god of all
the gods.
Writing stalks dead. It
knows no quit.
and writing laughs at itself,
at pain.
It is the last expectation,
the last explanation.
That's what it is.
( blank gun silencer - 1991 )
March 7, 2023
Much of Bukowski's best writing, his poetry, is about writing. So it is a shame that this book does not include any of those poems. Instead, this book contains Bukowski's correspondence, mostly to other writers and publishers. And as letters, they are wild, free-range stories and history of a powerhouse of crazed lonely brilliance. Many were pounded out while drunk. And a few are presented as facsimile (god, that's an ugly word) of his early hand-written letters, complete with sketches. There are two letters written to Henry Miller in 1965 which are shockingly edgy; as if Bukowski was aware that Henry Miller was at the time considered to be the most shockingly edgy writer and Bukowski was mimicking someone he respected and wanted a response from (it is frustrating that the book does not contain any responses, so it is a bit like listening to one side of the conversations). But overall, this was more than history; this book is an insight into the head of a great writer and even greater poet who would be cancel-culture obliterated in a nanosecond if arriving on the scene today. All in all, wild and an addition to read after you first dip into Buskowski's true writing (Try South of No North, Love Is a Dog from Hell, or You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense ).
August 25, 2019
This book is more than 200 pages of Bukowski's letters in which he writes to various people (mostly editors of magazines) about what a great writer he is and how all the other writers and poets are just frauds. It is great entertainment. And also very profound.
I understood why Bukowski is a hero for some people in the American alt-right.
"There is a possibility that for the first time in history we are not in a war of nation against nation but color against color - White, Black, Brown, Yellow. There's a fierceness in the street, a hatred. The trouble with the white race is that too many of them hate each other; this is true in other races but not to our degree. We lack the cohesion of Brotherhood. The only thing that we have is a certain terrible brain power and cleverness and the ability to fight at the proper time, the ability to out-trick, out-think, and even out gut the opposition. No matter how much the White man may hate himself, he is simply gifted, but it maybe ending for one reason or the another ....."
Bukowski was against censorship.
"The thing that I fear discriminating against is humor and truth. If I write badly about blacks, homosexuals and women it is because those who I met were that. There are many "bads" - bad dogs, bad censorship; there are even "bad" white males. Only when you write about "bad" white males they don't complain about it. And need I say that there are "good" blacks, "good" homosexuals and "good" women? "
His honesty is admirable.
"There are men who rape and men who think of rape. Writing of this does not mean the author condones rape, even if it is written in the first person. The right of creation is the right to mention what does exist. I even know some women - personally whose greatest desire is to be raped. Creation is creation. For instance, just because a man is black does not mean he can't be a son of a bitch and just because a woman is a woman does not mean she can't be a bitch. Let's not censor ourselves out of reality from a goody-goody stance."
These candid, weighty and funny letters make you wish that Bukowski was your best friend and you could drink with him every day and talk about things.
I understood why Bukowski is a hero for some people in the American alt-right.
"There is a possibility that for the first time in history we are not in a war of nation against nation but color against color - White, Black, Brown, Yellow. There's a fierceness in the street, a hatred. The trouble with the white race is that too many of them hate each other; this is true in other races but not to our degree. We lack the cohesion of Brotherhood. The only thing that we have is a certain terrible brain power and cleverness and the ability to fight at the proper time, the ability to out-trick, out-think, and even out gut the opposition. No matter how much the White man may hate himself, he is simply gifted, but it maybe ending for one reason or the another ....."
Bukowski was against censorship.
"The thing that I fear discriminating against is humor and truth. If I write badly about blacks, homosexuals and women it is because those who I met were that. There are many "bads" - bad dogs, bad censorship; there are even "bad" white males. Only when you write about "bad" white males they don't complain about it. And need I say that there are "good" blacks, "good" homosexuals and "good" women? "
His honesty is admirable.
"There are men who rape and men who think of rape. Writing of this does not mean the author condones rape, even if it is written in the first person. The right of creation is the right to mention what does exist. I even know some women - personally whose greatest desire is to be raped. Creation is creation. For instance, just because a man is black does not mean he can't be a son of a bitch and just because a woman is a woman does not mean she can't be a bitch. Let's not censor ourselves out of reality from a goody-goody stance."
These candid, weighty and funny letters make you wish that Bukowski was your best friend and you could drink with him every day and talk about things.
January 26, 2021
`Lo que trato de decir es que nadie es famoso ni bueno para siempre, eso es agua pasada. Tal vez te hagas famoso una vez muerto, pero lo que de veras importa es que mientras vivas tu magia destaque por encima de la confusión de la vida, y tiene que ser hoy o mañana, lo que ya has hecho no vale una puta mierda. No es una norma, sino un hecho. También es un hecho que me llegan preguntas por correo que no sé contestar. Si supiera contestarlas estaría dando un taller de ESCRITURA CREATIVA.´
`Dejaremos atrás las realidades estúpidas y las realidades anodinas pisando bien fuerte.
Los peces volarán, las aves nadarán, el lago será una sopa de cebolla y la sangre no morirá nunca´
Esta colección de cartas y respuestas a agencias literarias, poetas, traductores, agentes literarios, amigos y gente en general del mundo editorial me parece una joya por varios motivos.
Cartas sin medias tintas y directas, en su mayoría sin medias tintas. Rozando a veces el delirio alcohólico en el que muchas veces se encontraba el escritor, vamos descubriendo a través de sus múltiples correspondencias el carácter de Bukowski, un personaje obsesionado con escribir, sin ello se encontraba enfermo y como el describe prácticamente como un saco de mierda.
A través de las mismas arroja luz sobre su evolución personal y como escritor, un escritor que tuvo sus días de gloria en un momento bastante tardío de su vida.
Cabe destacar de la edición, acompañada de muchas caricaturas (desconocía que hiciera caricaturas antes de esto) y sus faltas de ortografía, o bien intencionadas o bien a causa de las borracheras que llevaba encima a la hora de escribir. La puntuación que tiene si que es excelente y bastante destacable, le dan un contexto muy amplio con frases simples, fuera de su recurso como escritor también lo plasmaba en sus cartas.
La mayoría de las contra réplicas a las críticas literarias que recibía eran mordaces, directas y sin rodeos, supongo y esto es una opinión personal que es una forma de defenderse, ya que no puedes arruinar a una persona que ya de por si se considera una ruina.
A lo largo de las cartas, destaca muchas de sus influencias, de las cuales nunca se despegó, la obra de Bukowski es una evolución a fuego lento, no sabría decir si al abismo o a la mordacidad de una realidad, como sabemos ya, bastante sucia.
La magia de estas cartas es que, en algún punto te sientes identificado con la perspectiva y el mundo que le rodeaba, haciéndolo no un dios si no una persona con sus múltiples fracasos a la espalda.
Un personaje que se regodeaba en su ignorancia fingida como defensa ante la vida y la crítica literaria.
Agradezco mucho esta recopilación de correspondencias, siempre me han gustado este tipo de recopilaciones, te enfrasca directamente en la vida de sus personajes y termina por dar contextos claros a muchas de sus obras.
5/5
`Dejaremos atrás las realidades estúpidas y las realidades anodinas pisando bien fuerte.
Los peces volarán, las aves nadarán, el lago será una sopa de cebolla y la sangre no morirá nunca´
Esta colección de cartas y respuestas a agencias literarias, poetas, traductores, agentes literarios, amigos y gente en general del mundo editorial me parece una joya por varios motivos.
Cartas sin medias tintas y directas, en su mayoría sin medias tintas. Rozando a veces el delirio alcohólico en el que muchas veces se encontraba el escritor, vamos descubriendo a través de sus múltiples correspondencias el carácter de Bukowski, un personaje obsesionado con escribir, sin ello se encontraba enfermo y como el describe prácticamente como un saco de mierda.
A través de las mismas arroja luz sobre su evolución personal y como escritor, un escritor que tuvo sus días de gloria en un momento bastante tardío de su vida.
Cabe destacar de la edición, acompañada de muchas caricaturas (desconocía que hiciera caricaturas antes de esto) y sus faltas de ortografía, o bien intencionadas o bien a causa de las borracheras que llevaba encima a la hora de escribir. La puntuación que tiene si que es excelente y bastante destacable, le dan un contexto muy amplio con frases simples, fuera de su recurso como escritor también lo plasmaba en sus cartas.
La mayoría de las contra réplicas a las críticas literarias que recibía eran mordaces, directas y sin rodeos, supongo y esto es una opinión personal que es una forma de defenderse, ya que no puedes arruinar a una persona que ya de por si se considera una ruina.
A lo largo de las cartas, destaca muchas de sus influencias, de las cuales nunca se despegó, la obra de Bukowski es una evolución a fuego lento, no sabría decir si al abismo o a la mordacidad de una realidad, como sabemos ya, bastante sucia.
La magia de estas cartas es que, en algún punto te sientes identificado con la perspectiva y el mundo que le rodeaba, haciéndolo no un dios si no una persona con sus múltiples fracasos a la espalda.
Un personaje que se regodeaba en su ignorancia fingida como defensa ante la vida y la crítica literaria.
Agradezco mucho esta recopilación de correspondencias, siempre me han gustado este tipo de recopilaciones, te enfrasca directamente en la vida de sus personajes y termina por dar contextos claros a muchas de sus obras.
5/5
August 5, 2015
I read a lot of Buk in the 90s and had to take a very long break from the guy. I think it's time to go back to the old drunk. Like Byron, Bukowski's letters are as much, and often more, fun to read than his poems. They reveal a lot about the guy that both confirms and destroys his legend. Worth the read for many reasons, high among them his take down of literary fads and those who write for fame. Repetitive but refreshing.
May 30, 2021
Parte de la correspondencia de Charles Bukowski fue recopilada, ordenada cronológicamente y publicada bajo el nombre de "La enfermedad de escribir".
Opinión: obra de muchísimo valor para los seguidores de Charles Bukowski ya que son cartas muy íntimas y que reflejan sus pensamientos más profundos respecto a diversos temas como la política, el mundo literario y sus escritores "consagrados", la poesía y sus protagonistas. Bukowski tambien nos abre una ventana a su etapa como estudiante universitario y a varios episodios en los cuales fue víctima de estafas.
Esta compilación ayuda a comprender mejor la personalidad de Bukowski y a separar la ficción (que no es mucha) de la realidad.
Fragmentos:
"Que me ataquen lo que quieran, yo me dedicaré a lo mío, y no lo hago por la fama o la inmortalidad. Lo hago porque tengo que hacerlo. Casi siempre me siento bien, sobre todo frente a la máquina de escribir, y tengo la impresión de que las palabras suenan cada vez mejor. Cierto o no, verdadero o falso, me dejo llevar."
"Cuando mi esqueleto descanse en el ataúd, si es que tengo uno, no habrá nada que me arrebate las magníficas noches que he pasado frente a la máquina de escribir."
" Piensa en los millones de vidas perdidas por las supuestas grandes causas. Todas esas vidas se habrían sacrificado en vano por una serie de motivos equivocados. Es demasiado tarde para arreglar los estragos causados por este juego monstruoso; hombres y mujeres, casi todo el mundo, enloquecerían de ira. Lo peor de todo es que el juego continúa y se ha vuelto más inhumano si cabe; se basa en la avaricia y el miedo, en una estrategia tan bien pensada que cuanto más te mienten, más te lo crees."
"Era como cualquier otro trabajo imposible, te cansabas y querías abandonarlo, te cansabas más y te olvidabas de abandonarlo, y los minutos no pasaban, vivías siempre en el mismo minuto, encerrado en él, sin esperanza, sin salida, atrapado, demasiado confundido para abandonar y sin ningún sitio a donde ir en caso de hacerlo." Bukowski
Opinión: obra de muchísimo valor para los seguidores de Charles Bukowski ya que son cartas muy íntimas y que reflejan sus pensamientos más profundos respecto a diversos temas como la política, el mundo literario y sus escritores "consagrados", la poesía y sus protagonistas. Bukowski tambien nos abre una ventana a su etapa como estudiante universitario y a varios episodios en los cuales fue víctima de estafas.
Esta compilación ayuda a comprender mejor la personalidad de Bukowski y a separar la ficción (que no es mucha) de la realidad.
Fragmentos:
"Que me ataquen lo que quieran, yo me dedicaré a lo mío, y no lo hago por la fama o la inmortalidad. Lo hago porque tengo que hacerlo. Casi siempre me siento bien, sobre todo frente a la máquina de escribir, y tengo la impresión de que las palabras suenan cada vez mejor. Cierto o no, verdadero o falso, me dejo llevar."
"Cuando mi esqueleto descanse en el ataúd, si es que tengo uno, no habrá nada que me arrebate las magníficas noches que he pasado frente a la máquina de escribir."
" Piensa en los millones de vidas perdidas por las supuestas grandes causas. Todas esas vidas se habrían sacrificado en vano por una serie de motivos equivocados. Es demasiado tarde para arreglar los estragos causados por este juego monstruoso; hombres y mujeres, casi todo el mundo, enloquecerían de ira. Lo peor de todo es que el juego continúa y se ha vuelto más inhumano si cabe; se basa en la avaricia y el miedo, en una estrategia tan bien pensada que cuanto más te mienten, más te lo crees."
"Era como cualquier otro trabajo imposible, te cansabas y querías abandonarlo, te cansabas más y te olvidabas de abandonarlo, y los minutos no pasaban, vivías siempre en el mismo minuto, encerrado en él, sin esperanza, sin salida, atrapado, demasiado confundido para abandonar y sin ningún sitio a donde ir en caso de hacerlo." Bukowski
January 8, 2021
Great insight into the mind of Bukowski. I love how he wasn't afraid to point out that the "literary" world was a bunch of stuffy, boring, stiffs. In this book of letters and ramblings, Buk boasts a little and points out how most poets are focused on subtlety, which is usually boring. He also points out how poetry started to focus on gender, race, and sexuality instead of good poetry. He was prophetic in pointing this out. Today's publishers of mags and books of poetry all want a backstory that diverges from the dead white poets of the past, which I get, but if a poet is good it should never matter what the fuck their backstory is. I also agree with Buk when he says that hard times create great writers, which sounds like just another backstory, but really points out instead that being poor or having crazy shit happen in your past tends to make writing better because it reflects what the poet/writer has been through or at the very least what we all might go through in life.
February 11, 2020
When I started 'On Writing' by Charles Bukowski, I was expecting something different, to be honest. I read years ago 'Henry Miller on Writing' that includes several essays about writing, creation, inspiration and even some advices on that craft given by Henry Miller. So I was expecting something similar this time.
‘On Writing' is a collection of letters written by Charles Bukowski that delve into his craft, his literary taste and his challenges as a writer. Although it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for (the format changes everything), it’s always interesting to dive into Bukowski's mind. I relate to the way he sees creation and his notion of writing and literature. He’s sort of an anarchist when it comes the literary craft.
For more reviews, follow me on Instagram: @booksturnyouon
‘On Writing' is a collection of letters written by Charles Bukowski that delve into his craft, his literary taste and his challenges as a writer. Although it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for (the format changes everything), it’s always interesting to dive into Bukowski's mind. I relate to the way he sees creation and his notion of writing and literature. He’s sort of an anarchist when it comes the literary craft.
For more reviews, follow me on Instagram: @booksturnyouon
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April 10, 2018Това, което не знаех за Буковски и усетих чрез писмата е, че Буковски е един от най-моралните писатели. Морал и Буковски?! Точно така :). От 1945 г. до 1993 г. проследяваме чрез кратки и откровени писма цял един живот, бит и точно този морал в писането, който не търпи развитие. Отсъствието на развитие обаче е това, което го отличава от прословутото писателско лицемерие. Аз като читател високо оценявам това постоянство, защото Буковски е стая, където отиваш на гости и знаеш, че винаги ще има добро пиене, тракащи думи и въздухът ще е винаги един и същ. Читателите имаме нужда от подобна сигурност, когато я поискаме.
Може би Буковски не е реалност (винаги вкарва песимизма и биографията си в писмата), но е докрай реален в това, което иска да покаже.
Нещото, което ме трогна е пламът, с който Буковски пише писма до писателите, които обича- Хенри Милър, Джон Фанти. Така искрени са възхищенията на талант, разпознаващ таланта и у другите. А с кратки и режещи думи ясно очертава фалша на други добре рекламирани творци
Може би Буковски не е реалност (винаги вкарва песимизма и биографията си в писмата), но е докрай реален в това, което иска да покаже.
Нещото, което ме трогна е пламът, с който Буковски пише писма до писателите, които обича- Хенри Милър, Джон Фанти. Така искрени са възхищенията на талант, разпознаващ таланта и у другите. А с кратки и режещи думи ясно очертава фалша на други добре рекламирани творци
November 4, 2023
The book represents a great collection of the letters by Bukowski to a different magazines, editors, friends.. for over than four decades; and by reading them it’s so amazing to follow the Bukowski life, get into his mind; you can really see what Bukowski called “disease”.
I’m not a big fan of his poetry, (i feel it’s difficult for me to understand it), but he was so interesting as a person, as a writer, truly unique, outsider and a loner, his different points of views on others aspects of life, and of course on poetry, on poets, on writing..
I’m not a big fan of his poetry, (i feel it’s difficult for me to understand it), but he was so interesting as a person, as a writer, truly unique, outsider and a loner, his different points of views on others aspects of life, and of course on poetry, on poets, on writing..
February 18, 2025
Absolutely sensational stuff.
I picked this up casually at a local bookstore here in Tokyo, judging from the title that it must contain a selection of quotes by Bukowski about writing.
Well, I wasn't completely wrong but it turned out to be something FAR better.
Bukowski scholar Abel Debritto has gone through thousands and thousands of pages of unpublished Bukowski letters (yes outside of the 5 volumes of letters that have been released to date) and put together an absolutely stellar collection of Buk letters, which are arranged chronologically starting way back in 1945, running right through to 1993, the year before he died.
I didn't realize Bukowski was such an excellent and witty letter writer until I picked up this collection. Like Ezra Pound (funnily enough, one of Bukowski's early heroes, to some extent), his letters are full of irreverent wit and a cranky exuberance that just bounces off the page. He is never dull. It is always exciting to read and Buk, quite elegantly at times, gives us his thoughts on writing. Here is a short sample from the book to give you an idea:
“Writing is only the result of what we have become day by day over the years. It’s a god damned fingerprint of self and there it is. And all that was written in the past is nothing; what it is … is only the next line. And when you can’t come up with the next line it doesn’t mean you’re old, it means you’re dead. It’s all right to be dead, it happens.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 192)
For Bukowski, a writer meant someone who was writing in the present. To him, it meant the constant motivation and action of writing. To stop writing meant to die as a writer and so to paraphrase Bob Dylan in Buk terms, "he not busy [writing], is busy dying."
Whatever you think of his values or lifestyle or what he stood for, you've gotta admire his relience, his dedication to the craft of writing.
In recent years, John Martin's role in Bukowski's career has come into question and it has become quite controversial. Although there are many letters even here in which Bukowski openly shows his admiration for Martin who allowed him to quit his job at the post office and devote his time to writing, there is some bitterness that creeps through as well.
“This stuff is hell.
What I am beginning to realize is that Black Sparrow can only publish what it wants to.
What is left over you still have in your backlogs.
It’s like you have a freak monkey in a cage to display at your behest.
My energy is being mutilated for your simple profit motive.
You keep holding back on me while my readers are in a rage for a taste of more.
My loyalty to you began as a fair and even matter.
All I want to do is to type this shit. And you only allow the people to see maybe one-sixth of my energy.
This is murder. You are killing me.
No poet in his time has been restricted as you are restricting me.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 190)
Buk's letters to Carl Weissner (his German friend and translator) were among my favorite. I often felt that Women was a very overrated novel. At one point Bukowski says it's his best. The following letter shed some light on our different perspectives:
“I hope you haven’t started translating Women yet. John Martin and I are at it—I claim he has inserted too much of his writing into the novel ... [...] ... I really feel he has changed my wordage too much, sometimes every other sentence. This is disrespect to me. I don’t care about minor changes in grammar and straightening out past and present tense but when too many sentences are fucked with it disturbs the natural flow of my writing. My writing is jagged and harsh, I want it to remain that way, I don’t want it smoothed out. Also large sections of the novel have been eliminated.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 150)
Since then, people have criticized John Martin for censoring or changing the contents of Buk's poetry volumes as well. Abel Debritto, the editor of this book, is one of those who has brought this important matter to public notice.
Those squabbles aside, the good news is there is so much Bukowski material already in print for us to read and by the sounds of it plenty more still in the archives. Bukowski was one of the most prolific writers of his time. He sometimes published some crap (like Creeley, his early bugbear), but through and through, the amount of good, strong poetry he generated, and absolutely stellar invigorating prose undoubtedly makes him one of the most important American writers of the 20th Century.
This is as good a place as any to start your Buk journey, if you have not read him before. If you are familiar with him, then dig in and enjoy!
I picked this up casually at a local bookstore here in Tokyo, judging from the title that it must contain a selection of quotes by Bukowski about writing.
Well, I wasn't completely wrong but it turned out to be something FAR better.
Bukowski scholar Abel Debritto has gone through thousands and thousands of pages of unpublished Bukowski letters (yes outside of the 5 volumes of letters that have been released to date) and put together an absolutely stellar collection of Buk letters, which are arranged chronologically starting way back in 1945, running right through to 1993, the year before he died.
I didn't realize Bukowski was such an excellent and witty letter writer until I picked up this collection. Like Ezra Pound (funnily enough, one of Bukowski's early heroes, to some extent), his letters are full of irreverent wit and a cranky exuberance that just bounces off the page. He is never dull. It is always exciting to read and Buk, quite elegantly at times, gives us his thoughts on writing. Here is a short sample from the book to give you an idea:
“Writing is only the result of what we have become day by day over the years. It’s a god damned fingerprint of self and there it is. And all that was written in the past is nothing; what it is … is only the next line. And when you can’t come up with the next line it doesn’t mean you’re old, it means you’re dead. It’s all right to be dead, it happens.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 192)
For Bukowski, a writer meant someone who was writing in the present. To him, it meant the constant motivation and action of writing. To stop writing meant to die as a writer and so to paraphrase Bob Dylan in Buk terms, "he not busy [writing], is busy dying."
Whatever you think of his values or lifestyle or what he stood for, you've gotta admire his relience, his dedication to the craft of writing.
In recent years, John Martin's role in Bukowski's career has come into question and it has become quite controversial. Although there are many letters even here in which Bukowski openly shows his admiration for Martin who allowed him to quit his job at the post office and devote his time to writing, there is some bitterness that creeps through as well.
“This stuff is hell.
What I am beginning to realize is that Black Sparrow can only publish what it wants to.
What is left over you still have in your backlogs.
It’s like you have a freak monkey in a cage to display at your behest.
My energy is being mutilated for your simple profit motive.
You keep holding back on me while my readers are in a rage for a taste of more.
My loyalty to you began as a fair and even matter.
All I want to do is to type this shit. And you only allow the people to see maybe one-sixth of my energy.
This is murder. You are killing me.
No poet in his time has been restricted as you are restricting me.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 190)
Buk's letters to Carl Weissner (his German friend and translator) were among my favorite. I often felt that Women was a very overrated novel. At one point Bukowski says it's his best. The following letter shed some light on our different perspectives:
“I hope you haven’t started translating Women yet. John Martin and I are at it—I claim he has inserted too much of his writing into the novel ... [...] ... I really feel he has changed my wordage too much, sometimes every other sentence. This is disrespect to me. I don’t care about minor changes in grammar and straightening out past and present tense but when too many sentences are fucked with it disturbs the natural flow of my writing. My writing is jagged and harsh, I want it to remain that way, I don’t want it smoothed out. Also large sections of the novel have been eliminated.”
(Bukowski, C. On Writing. Canongate Books, 2016: p. 150)
Since then, people have criticized John Martin for censoring or changing the contents of Buk's poetry volumes as well. Abel Debritto, the editor of this book, is one of those who has brought this important matter to public notice.
Those squabbles aside, the good news is there is so much Bukowski material already in print for us to read and by the sounds of it plenty more still in the archives. Bukowski was one of the most prolific writers of his time. He sometimes published some crap (like Creeley, his early bugbear), but through and through, the amount of good, strong poetry he generated, and absolutely stellar invigorating prose undoubtedly makes him one of the most important American writers of the 20th Century.
This is as good a place as any to start your Buk journey, if you have not read him before. If you are familiar with him, then dig in and enjoy!
June 24, 2016
This book was my introduction to Charles Bukowski. It contains a collection of letters, dated from 1945 to 1993, in which he talks about writing. This includes his own and other authors' publications as well as the process of writing itself. As a little bonus you get to see some of his quirky illustrations.
"I might even say that a poem should not be a poem, but more a chunk of something that happens to come out right."
I feel like reading books of letter correspondences is always a bit of a hit and miss, but I enjoyed reading this volume. My knowledge of Bukowski was limited, yet I think I know more about what kind of person he was now.
First of all, I feel it's save to say that he held some strong opinions in a very black-and-white way: he either praised beyond measure or detested to its core. This doesn't necessarily make him a likable, but definitely an interesting character.
Another fact I gathered was that Bukowski was a man who lived for his art. Writing came as natural to him as breathing and it was interesting to see how his voice barely changed over the span of the almost 50 years this book covers.
It didn't take long to figure out how highly he valued his alcohol. He doesn't even try to hide it, instead his red wine bottle is something like a re-occuring character in his letters, which is almost something to chuckle about. But he's open about it:
"I'm an alky, you last longer, can type more... Meet more women, get into more jails..."
All in all, I was positively surprised by the entertainment and insight this book provided and it got me excited about reading more of Bukowski's published work!
"I might even say that a poem should not be a poem, but more a chunk of something that happens to come out right."
I feel like reading books of letter correspondences is always a bit of a hit and miss, but I enjoyed reading this volume. My knowledge of Bukowski was limited, yet I think I know more about what kind of person he was now.
First of all, I feel it's save to say that he held some strong opinions in a very black-and-white way: he either praised beyond measure or detested to its core. This doesn't necessarily make him a likable, but definitely an interesting character.
Another fact I gathered was that Bukowski was a man who lived for his art. Writing came as natural to him as breathing and it was interesting to see how his voice barely changed over the span of the almost 50 years this book covers.
It didn't take long to figure out how highly he valued his alcohol. He doesn't even try to hide it, instead his red wine bottle is something like a re-occuring character in his letters, which is almost something to chuckle about. But he's open about it:
"I'm an alky, you last longer, can type more... Meet more women, get into more jails..."
All in all, I was positively surprised by the entertainment and insight this book provided and it got me excited about reading more of Bukowski's published work!
January 10, 2019
به این درک رسیدم، شاید هم اشتباه باشه؛ ولی بوکوفسکی خوندن در حالت عادی خوبه، نه وقتی که شرایط زندگی ت به همون وضع میل پیدا کرده. اون موقع خوندن شون ذره ای لذت نداره.
کامنت خاصی نمی تونم اضافه کنم. یه کتاب از کارهای بوکوفسکی بود که باید می خوندم.
//
کامنت خاصی نمی تونم اضافه کنم. یه کتاب از کارهای بوکوفسکی بود که باید می خوندم.
//
November 25, 2017
I really enjoyed his biographies and novels. This, however, bored me very quickly. I was expecting real insight, but I thought it was largely drunken rambles. A shame.
December 1, 2023
These intelligent people jaggle my nuts
Mixed feelings about this one. A number of letters in this collection are powerful and truly beautiful, or they contain power and beauty. A lot of them, most of them, however, show a variously whiny, arrogant, volatile and lazy hack of a writer whinging on about his greatness.
The difficulty here is that Bukowski often was great.
On balance, I wish I hadn’t read this. Just too much moaning about his difficult life, fake crap successful writers, and his own brilliantly stoic resoluteness. It’s all a bit much.
...maybe the horror of the hopelessness can create some slight background laughter, even if it comes from the throat of the devil.
Mixed feelings about this one. A number of letters in this collection are powerful and truly beautiful, or they contain power and beauty. A lot of them, most of them, however, show a variously whiny, arrogant, volatile and lazy hack of a writer whinging on about his greatness.
The difficulty here is that Bukowski often was great.
On balance, I wish I hadn’t read this. Just too much moaning about his difficult life, fake crap successful writers, and his own brilliantly stoic resoluteness. It’s all a bit much.
...maybe the horror of the hopelessness can create some slight background laughter, even if it comes from the throat of the devil.
August 2, 2015
Superbly honest - Love this man
not for the uninitiated
not for the uninitiated
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September 9, 2020Πάντοτε όταν έχεις να κάνεις με μια έκδοση που περιλαμβάνει αλληλογραφία ενός συγγραφέως, είναι μια ιδιαίτερη περίπτωση. Έτσι και εδώ δε σηκώνει βαθμολογία. Υπήρχαν κάποια γράμματα του Bukowski που είχαν πολύ μεγάλο ενδιαφέρον, ειδικά όταν σχολίαζε τα κακώς κείμενα του εκδοτικού χώρου ή όταν αλληλογραφούσε με άλλες συγγραφικές προσωπικότητες όπως ο αγαπημένος του John Fante. Υπήρχαν και περιπτώσεις όμως που τα γράμματα δεν έλεγαν κάτι το ουσιώδες. Γι' αυτό η κριτική μένει χωρίς βαθμολογία. Σίγουρα όμως είναι μια έκδοση που είναι χρήσιμη στο συνολικό μεταφρασμένο έργο του θείου Charles.
January 8, 2021
The real name for this collection should be something along the lines of “Collected Rants in Chronological Letter-form.”
Typical Buk, there’s some gorgeous shit in here, and the timeline gives you a picture of his process along with projects he collaborated on and invested himself into, but you’re really not intended to read him this way.
That said, please don’t make this the first Buk you ever read. He’d be royally pissed if that were the case.
Typical Buk, there’s some gorgeous shit in here, and the timeline gives you a picture of his process along with projects he collaborated on and invested himself into, but you’re really not intended to read him this way.
That said, please don’t make this the first Buk you ever read. He’d be royally pissed if that were the case.
April 6, 2021
“Soy un tipo peligroso cuando se me deja solo frente a una máquina de escribir.”
Henry Charles Bukowski, bien conocido por su sucio realismo, cinismo, lenguaje gráfico y escritura controvertida, fue uno de esos escritores de los cuales, te gusta u odia. Con historias controvertidas, imprevisibles, a veces brutales o locas, pero aburrida, podria ser para algunos quienes lo describen por sus palabras.
“La fama y la inmortalidad nunca serán mías. Es más, no las quiero.”
La enfermedad de escribir es una colección de cartas inéditas del icono del realismo sucio sobre el arte de escribir, la cual recoge las reflexiones sobre el oficio al que se dedicó toda su vida: “Tengo 70 años pero estaré en la gloria si el vino tinto sigue fluyendo y la máquina de escribir funcione. Me lo pasaba bien cuando escribía relatos obscenos para las revistas porno para pagar el alquiler y sigo pasándomelo bien a pesar de los peligros de la fama y el dinero… y esos pasos cada vez más cercanos de la muerte. He disfrutado de la lucha de la vida y la dejaré sin remordimientos.
Más de una vez he dicho que escribir es una enfermedad.”
Un libro no solo de lineas memorables, sino de la dureza caracteristica del autor dirigida a editores, amigos y compañeros escritores. Unas cartas que no delinean una época como lo hacían otros escritores, porque en parte evitó los movimientos artísticos : “los miembros de la "Escuela de Montaña Negra" de poetas de Charles Olson carecen del valor de "fallar solo", Un escritor de la soledad.
Leer este libro es rastrear el pensamiento de Bukowski, de ir a “Quería un ejemplar de Portfolio con mi relato. Estaba deprimido, tenía ganas de suicidarme y delirios alcohólicos.” A emitir un dicho sobre la poesia: “La poesía no me interesa. No sé qué es lo que me interesa. Supongo que todo lo que no sea aburrido. La poesía convencional no tiene vida aunque parezca lo contrario.” Es un texto que debe ir buscanle el ritmo, si es que lo tiene, pero a veces resulta algo repetitivo, pues conociendo quien escribe, no va más allá que los temas de los cuales le son propios. “y cuando vendí la máquina de escribir en San Francisco para emborracharme, no pude dejar de escribir ni de beber, así que escribí los cuentos a mano durante años y luego los adorné con ilustraciones para que llamaran la atención.”
Henry Charles Bukowski, bien conocido por su sucio realismo, cinismo, lenguaje gráfico y escritura controvertida, fue uno de esos escritores de los cuales, te gusta u odia. Con historias controvertidas, imprevisibles, a veces brutales o locas, pero aburrida, podria ser para algunos quienes lo describen por sus palabras.
“La fama y la inmortalidad nunca serán mías. Es más, no las quiero.”
La enfermedad de escribir es una colección de cartas inéditas del icono del realismo sucio sobre el arte de escribir, la cual recoge las reflexiones sobre el oficio al que se dedicó toda su vida: “Tengo 70 años pero estaré en la gloria si el vino tinto sigue fluyendo y la máquina de escribir funcione. Me lo pasaba bien cuando escribía relatos obscenos para las revistas porno para pagar el alquiler y sigo pasándomelo bien a pesar de los peligros de la fama y el dinero… y esos pasos cada vez más cercanos de la muerte. He disfrutado de la lucha de la vida y la dejaré sin remordimientos.
Más de una vez he dicho que escribir es una enfermedad.”
Un libro no solo de lineas memorables, sino de la dureza caracteristica del autor dirigida a editores, amigos y compañeros escritores. Unas cartas que no delinean una época como lo hacían otros escritores, porque en parte evitó los movimientos artísticos : “los miembros de la "Escuela de Montaña Negra" de poetas de Charles Olson carecen del valor de "fallar solo", Un escritor de la soledad.
Leer este libro es rastrear el pensamiento de Bukowski, de ir a “Quería un ejemplar de Portfolio con mi relato. Estaba deprimido, tenía ganas de suicidarme y delirios alcohólicos.” A emitir un dicho sobre la poesia: “La poesía no me interesa. No sé qué es lo que me interesa. Supongo que todo lo que no sea aburrido. La poesía convencional no tiene vida aunque parezca lo contrario.” Es un texto que debe ir buscanle el ritmo, si es que lo tiene, pero a veces resulta algo repetitivo, pues conociendo quien escribe, no va más allá que los temas de los cuales le son propios. “y cuando vendí la máquina de escribir en San Francisco para emborracharme, no pude dejar de escribir ni de beber, así que escribí los cuentos a mano durante años y luego los adorné con ilustraciones para que llamaran la atención.”
March 24, 2023
"Thank you for lessening the blow on my weakness of grammar by mentioning that some of your college friends have trouble with sentence structure. I think some writers do suffer this fate mainly because at heart they are rebellious and the rules of grammar like many of the other rules of our world call for a herding in and a confirmation that the natural writer instinctively abhors, and furthermore, his interest lies in the wider scope of subject and spirit."
Initially I was a little down about how this collection of letters wasn't how I had imagined it would be. I thought I would learn something or that there would be more on Bukowski's views on writing and different authors and his methods or whatnot. Well it was him mostly writing about wanting to get something published or how something wasn't published or what he's been doing recently.
"Writing is like most writers think fucking is: just when they start thinking they are doing it pretty good they stop doing it altogether."
It was a slow start but I was warming to it because I was reading about Bukowski's actual life and it felt interesting to read about the different publications that have been around in the 1900s.
"I've had too many drunken nights and depressive days since I received it(sheaf). And I always lose everything-jobs, women, ballpoint pens, fistfights, requests for grants from The National Foundation of the Arts, so forth...where was I?"
His humour was the first thing I picked up on and it was probably what got me really into reading this. His trail of thought breaking is also lovely to read about as I suffer from that illness myself.
"Your Alta is confused. There are men who rape and men who think of rape. Writing of this does not mean that the author condones rape, even if it is written in the first person. The right of creation is the right to mention what does exist. --I am poking fun at the male attitude toward the female."
Some pieces explained him a little bit, I was still disappointed there weren't more of these.
"That childhood, growing up stuff has been painful for most of us to do, go through, and there is a tendency to make too much of it. I've read very little literature about that stage of life that didn't make me a little bit sick because of its preciousness. I am trying to luck it into the balance, like maybe the horror of the hopelessness can create some slight background laughter, even if it comes from the throat of the devil..."
Could relate so much it hurts. Without alcoholism or extreme poverty I can still relate to a vast variety of Bukowski's thoughts. Growing up is still hard for me, has been too. This life seems to me more like I'm just getting by or constantly getting over something. Getting through or coping.
Reading someone else express the same feelings you're experiencing is liberating.
"It's just that, I can write a story when I'm feeling good and I haven't been feeling fucking good at all, hence all the poems poems poems...Without that release I would probably be a suicide or popping pills at the nearest mental institute."
Initially I was a little down about how this collection of letters wasn't how I had imagined it would be. I thought I would learn something or that there would be more on Bukowski's views on writing and different authors and his methods or whatnot. Well it was him mostly writing about wanting to get something published or how something wasn't published or what he's been doing recently.
"Writing is like most writers think fucking is: just when they start thinking they are doing it pretty good they stop doing it altogether."
It was a slow start but I was warming to it because I was reading about Bukowski's actual life and it felt interesting to read about the different publications that have been around in the 1900s.
"I've had too many drunken nights and depressive days since I received it(sheaf). And I always lose everything-jobs, women, ballpoint pens, fistfights, requests for grants from The National Foundation of the Arts, so forth...where was I?"
His humour was the first thing I picked up on and it was probably what got me really into reading this. His trail of thought breaking is also lovely to read about as I suffer from that illness myself.
"Your Alta is confused. There are men who rape and men who think of rape. Writing of this does not mean that the author condones rape, even if it is written in the first person. The right of creation is the right to mention what does exist. --I am poking fun at the male attitude toward the female."
Some pieces explained him a little bit, I was still disappointed there weren't more of these.
"That childhood, growing up stuff has been painful for most of us to do, go through, and there is a tendency to make too much of it. I've read very little literature about that stage of life that didn't make me a little bit sick because of its preciousness. I am trying to luck it into the balance, like maybe the horror of the hopelessness can create some slight background laughter, even if it comes from the throat of the devil..."
Could relate so much it hurts. Without alcoholism or extreme poverty I can still relate to a vast variety of Bukowski's thoughts. Growing up is still hard for me, has been too. This life seems to me more like I'm just getting by or constantly getting over something. Getting through or coping.
Reading someone else express the same feelings you're experiencing is liberating.
"It's just that, I can write a story when I'm feeling good and I haven't been feeling fucking good at all, hence all the poems poems poems...Without that release I would probably be a suicide or popping pills at the nearest mental institute."
November 10, 2024
How I wish Bukowski wrote a writing memoir like Stephen King did. Unfortunately, he did not. But thanks to Abel Debritto, we now have the closest we could get.
On Writing collects Bukowski’s raw insights on literature—from his expose of the frustrating reality of mainstream publishing to his encouraging remarks on doing art no matter what. Being the first Bukowski book I started reading and after reading several of his other works, I would say this book is also a good introduction to his iconic style—blunt, existential yet funny musings on lowlife.
The letters are ordered chronologically, so it shows the progress of Bukowski as a literary recluse and a dirty old drunkard. The first letters are fairly interesting, each having a quite quotable sentence or two. Quite disappointingly, the middle letters feel saggy; mainly because it’s mostly composed of esoteric affairs—i.e. Bukowski’s annoyance with mainstream editors, famous authors, and the elitist literary scene at large. Gratefully, the last letters are redeeming; it’s where the block of gems is found, where Bukowski’s thoughts on writing are most on-point and especially inspiring for struggling writers.
The book starts with a funny punch and ends with a poignant punch. Debritto has done a commendable output. His afterword is also a poignant recap of Bukowski’s life from a struggling writer to a literary icon.
The physical book is also as commendable as its content—from cover design, binding, paper, photos, down to typesetting—each contributes to a good reading experience.
There are only two kinds of person who would enjoy this book: a Bukowski fan and a writer. I’m lucky to have read it as both.
On Writing collects Bukowski’s raw insights on literature—from his expose of the frustrating reality of mainstream publishing to his encouraging remarks on doing art no matter what. Being the first Bukowski book I started reading and after reading several of his other works, I would say this book is also a good introduction to his iconic style—blunt, existential yet funny musings on lowlife.
The letters are ordered chronologically, so it shows the progress of Bukowski as a literary recluse and a dirty old drunkard. The first letters are fairly interesting, each having a quite quotable sentence or two. Quite disappointingly, the middle letters feel saggy; mainly because it’s mostly composed of esoteric affairs—i.e. Bukowski’s annoyance with mainstream editors, famous authors, and the elitist literary scene at large. Gratefully, the last letters are redeeming; it’s where the block of gems is found, where Bukowski’s thoughts on writing are most on-point and especially inspiring for struggling writers.
The book starts with a funny punch and ends with a poignant punch. Debritto has done a commendable output. His afterword is also a poignant recap of Bukowski’s life from a struggling writer to a literary icon.
The physical book is also as commendable as its content—from cover design, binding, paper, photos, down to typesetting—each contributes to a good reading experience.
There are only two kinds of person who would enjoy this book: a Bukowski fan and a writer. I’m lucky to have read it as both.
February 6, 2017
Must-read voor fans van Bukowksi, en voor alle liefhebbers van oprechte, goede literatuur, in feite voor iedereen met een greintje verstand en goeie smaak. Ik ben blij dat ik niet alles van Bukowski gelezen heb in mijn jeugd. Daardoor is er altijd nog iets nieuws te lezen. Het is dan ook altijd een plezier, hij blijft 'deliveren'.
Deze verzamelde fragmenten uit brieven schetsen een beeld van Bukowski's visie op schrijven, schrijver zijn, literatuur etc. Ongezouten, licht gemarineerd soms, geeft hij zijn mening. Deze teksten sluiten volgens mij verrassend goed aan bij zijn poëzie en proza. Het is duidelijk dat hij altijd schreef vanuit dezelfde drang en overtuiging. Zijn brieven, poëzie en proza vormen één natuurlijk geheel. Bovenal is zijn mening prikkelend, inspirerend, eerlijk. Bukowski is meer dan een schrijver, hij is een gids, een zwalpende gids weliswaar, maar geen aarzelende, geen schijnheilige, geen pseudogids. Hij volgt zijn eigen instinct, hij volgt vol overtuiging zijn eigen weg. Leuk te lezen dat we enkele favorieten (Voyage... van Céline, Dostojewski, Fante, vroege Hemingway) gemeen hebben.
Bukowski wordt niet zelden geroemd als schrijver van het ondergrondse, zatte, arme, low life Amerika, terwijl hij voor mij om zijn geniale stijl, flow en humor alleen alle eer verdient.
Met fans van Bukowski is het altijd leuker aan de toog hangen, ook, trouwens.
Deze verzamelde fragmenten uit brieven schetsen een beeld van Bukowski's visie op schrijven, schrijver zijn, literatuur etc. Ongezouten, licht gemarineerd soms, geeft hij zijn mening. Deze teksten sluiten volgens mij verrassend goed aan bij zijn poëzie en proza. Het is duidelijk dat hij altijd schreef vanuit dezelfde drang en overtuiging. Zijn brieven, poëzie en proza vormen één natuurlijk geheel. Bovenal is zijn mening prikkelend, inspirerend, eerlijk. Bukowski is meer dan een schrijver, hij is een gids, een zwalpende gids weliswaar, maar geen aarzelende, geen schijnheilige, geen pseudogids. Hij volgt zijn eigen instinct, hij volgt vol overtuiging zijn eigen weg. Leuk te lezen dat we enkele favorieten (Voyage... van Céline, Dostojewski, Fante, vroege Hemingway) gemeen hebben.
Bukowski wordt niet zelden geroemd als schrijver van het ondergrondse, zatte, arme, low life Amerika, terwijl hij voor mij om zijn geniale stijl, flow en humor alleen alle eer verdient.
Met fans van Bukowski is het altijd leuker aan de toog hangen, ook, trouwens.
August 31, 2021
Rasanya gak salah kalau bilang Bukowski adalah salah satu penyair gila abad 20. Tulisannya yang kasar, cenderung ceplas ceplos dan pada titik tertentu memang apa adanya adalah ciri khas menarik dari penulis ini. Di buku ini beliau bukan ngasih tahu pembaca bagaimana teknik menulis yang baik, tapi yang dibagikan adalah api, semangat dan bara yang tak pernah padam dalam menulis. Isinya adalah kumpulan surat-surat beliau pada teman, editor dan kritimus pada jaman itu di mana dalam surat itu beliau bisa bercerita apa saja dari yang remeh temeh seperti baru bilang, "aku baru saja bertengkar dengan wanitaku," sampai perihal bagaimana beliau kerap mengkritik sesama penulis hingga idola-idolanya sendiri. Bukowski adalah anomali yang tak akan habis dikupas di berbagai jaman. Kita perlu orang-orang seperti Bukowski yang keras, tegas tetapi jujur dalam segala sikapnya. Dan yang paling penting adalah kecintaanya pada dunia menulis. Seperti yang selalu dia katakan bahwa mendengar suara mesin tik adalah hiburan tersendiri baginya.
August 17, 2015
Lackluster editing and wish they would have printed the full letters instead of fragments. Doesn't compare to the three volumes of letters released by Black Sparrow in the 90s, but nonetheless, Buk's 5-star voice, wisdom, humor, and honesty remain.
September 13, 2021
3.5, más tirado a 4 que a 3. Este libro es un buen recorrido por la carrera literaria de Bukowski. En él se muestra el tránsito de un escritor ¿joven? (da la impresión que Bukowski jamás fue joven), a uno más maduro. En general las ideas centrales del pensamientos bukowskiano siempre están ahí, solo que con el transcurso de las cartas va afianzándose y desarrollándose en forma más profunda. Hay una gran importancia a todas las formas de narrativa, pero en especial a la poesía, tal vez el vehículo favorito de Bukowski para expresar sus ideas y lograr la crudeza y economía de lenguaje que tanto buscaba.
En las cartas es posible ver el rechazo como motor y motivante. Bukowski es un escritor que parece crecer con el fracaso, con el sentirse incómodo y fuera de lugar. Con ser un solitario. Es posible ver el desdén ante la pretensión literaria, los escritores que no escriben tan pronto les llega la fama, aquellos que se enredan en las grandes discusiones políticas de sus tiempos, quienes imparten talleres de escritura en lugar de escribir. Hay una visión de arte, algo que viene desde las entrañas y que de inmediato pierde su brillo una vez comienza a pensarse demasiado, a plagarse de mensajes y convicciones. En algunas raras ocasiones se deja ver también el Bukowski más "fan", como en aquel breve intercambio de cartas que mantuvo con Fante, uno de sus mayores referentes. En esas cartas, la voz de Bukowski pasa a tener un tono más amable, incluso subordinado a la estatura de la persona a la que escribe.
Casi todas las cartas están escritas en un estilo desprovisto de mucha estructura. Bukowski parece dejar fluir su conciencia y mezcla mensaje con hechos que ocurren a su alrededor (la música que escucha, lo que está tomando -sí, siempre está tomando algo-, o el resultado de las carreras). Esto le da cierta vida a las cartas, a veces también un tono poético o de relato corto.
Parece no haber una gran diferencia entre persona y personaje. Tal vez Bukowski era alguien muy consciente de su imagen hacia afuera, tal vez simplemente fuera todo lo que escribía ser. Por muy poco ajustado que esto sea a la moral de nuestros tiempos, prefiero pensar que fue así.
En las cartas es posible ver el rechazo como motor y motivante. Bukowski es un escritor que parece crecer con el fracaso, con el sentirse incómodo y fuera de lugar. Con ser un solitario. Es posible ver el desdén ante la pretensión literaria, los escritores que no escriben tan pronto les llega la fama, aquellos que se enredan en las grandes discusiones políticas de sus tiempos, quienes imparten talleres de escritura en lugar de escribir. Hay una visión de arte, algo que viene desde las entrañas y que de inmediato pierde su brillo una vez comienza a pensarse demasiado, a plagarse de mensajes y convicciones. En algunas raras ocasiones se deja ver también el Bukowski más "fan", como en aquel breve intercambio de cartas que mantuvo con Fante, uno de sus mayores referentes. En esas cartas, la voz de Bukowski pasa a tener un tono más amable, incluso subordinado a la estatura de la persona a la que escribe.
Casi todas las cartas están escritas en un estilo desprovisto de mucha estructura. Bukowski parece dejar fluir su conciencia y mezcla mensaje con hechos que ocurren a su alrededor (la música que escucha, lo que está tomando -sí, siempre está tomando algo-, o el resultado de las carreras). Esto le da cierta vida a las cartas, a veces también un tono poético o de relato corto.
Parece no haber una gran diferencia entre persona y personaje. Tal vez Bukowski era alguien muy consciente de su imagen hacia afuera, tal vez simplemente fuera todo lo que escribía ser. Por muy poco ajustado que esto sea a la moral de nuestros tiempos, prefiero pensar que fue así.
October 28, 2017
BUKOWSKI... BUKOWSKI... De prononcer son nom je sens déjà mes tripes qui bouillonne, l'envie de dévorer tout ce qu'il a écrit, mais aussi la frustration de ne jamais pouvoir le rencontrer. Je me dis également que si je l'avais découvert lorsque j'étais adolescent j'aurais peut être compris certaines choses plus rapidement... Enfin Bref.
Ce bouquin est une perle et permet de découvrir vraiment qui était le personnage et l'écrivain. Il donne d'ailleurs une définition saisissante de son métier, entre pulsion et folie, comme une maladie dont on ne peut se passer, une envie irrépressible de coucher les mots sur le papier. Il pense qu’écrire pour devenir célèbre ou même l’espérer, conduit irrémédiablement à la médiocrité, comme vouloir en tirer le plus d'argent possible. Bref à lire absolument pour les amoureux de Bukowski, et pour ceux qui aurait les préjuges classiques sur l'auteur...
Pour donner envie un petit passage d'un courrier écrit à un de ses premiers éditeurs :
"Et puis j'ai des gens qui me disent "pourquoi vous allez aux courses? Pourquoi vous buvez? C'est destructeur." Et comment, que c'est destructeur. Tout comme travailler à la nouvelle Orléans pour 17 dollars par semaine était destructeur. Tout comme les amoncellements de corps blancs, vieilles chevilles, tibias et filets de merde dégoulinant des draps du county general hospital de los angeles... les morts qui attendent de mourir... Les vieux qui s'accrochent à leur dernier souffle sans autre perspective que des murs et le silence et la tombe, qui les attend comme une fausse à ordure. Ils croient que je m'en fous, ils croient que je ne ressens rien sous prétexte que mon visage est flétri et que les yeux me sortent de la tête tandis que je parcours le journal hippique une bouteille à la main. Ils ressentent les choses de façon si charmante, les enculés, les connards, les suceurs de citron de merde aux sourires visqueux, ils ressentent comme il faut, bien sur, seulement ça n'existe pas les bonnes façons de ressentir, et ils finiront par s'en rendre compte... Une nuit, un matin, ou peut être un jour sur l'autoroute, dans un dernier grondement de verre et d'acier, de vessie déchirée, dans le rose grandissant du soleil couchant. Ils peuvent prendre leur lierre, leurs éléments métriques et se les mettre dans le cul.... s'il n'y a pas déjà quelque chose fourré là au fond."
Ce bouquin est une perle et permet de découvrir vraiment qui était le personnage et l'écrivain. Il donne d'ailleurs une définition saisissante de son métier, entre pulsion et folie, comme une maladie dont on ne peut se passer, une envie irrépressible de coucher les mots sur le papier. Il pense qu’écrire pour devenir célèbre ou même l’espérer, conduit irrémédiablement à la médiocrité, comme vouloir en tirer le plus d'argent possible. Bref à lire absolument pour les amoureux de Bukowski, et pour ceux qui aurait les préjuges classiques sur l'auteur...
Pour donner envie un petit passage d'un courrier écrit à un de ses premiers éditeurs :
"Et puis j'ai des gens qui me disent "pourquoi vous allez aux courses? Pourquoi vous buvez? C'est destructeur." Et comment, que c'est destructeur. Tout comme travailler à la nouvelle Orléans pour 17 dollars par semaine était destructeur. Tout comme les amoncellements de corps blancs, vieilles chevilles, tibias et filets de merde dégoulinant des draps du county general hospital de los angeles... les morts qui attendent de mourir... Les vieux qui s'accrochent à leur dernier souffle sans autre perspective que des murs et le silence et la tombe, qui les attend comme une fausse à ordure. Ils croient que je m'en fous, ils croient que je ne ressens rien sous prétexte que mon visage est flétri et que les yeux me sortent de la tête tandis que je parcours le journal hippique une bouteille à la main. Ils ressentent les choses de façon si charmante, les enculés, les connards, les suceurs de citron de merde aux sourires visqueux, ils ressentent comme il faut, bien sur, seulement ça n'existe pas les bonnes façons de ressentir, et ils finiront par s'en rendre compte... Une nuit, un matin, ou peut être un jour sur l'autoroute, dans un dernier grondement de verre et d'acier, de vessie déchirée, dans le rose grandissant du soleil couchant. Ils peuvent prendre leur lierre, leurs éléments métriques et se les mettre dans le cul.... s'il n'y a pas déjà quelque chose fourré là au fond."
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 4, 2019
To moja pierwsza styczność z Bukowskim i postanowiłam zacząć akurat od tej książki głównie z tego powodu, że tematyka "pisarstwa" jest mi na swój sposób bliska i byłam ciekawa poglądów autora oraz całego procesu twórczego z jego perspektywy.
Generalnie jestem już pewna, że na pewno sięgnę po kolejne jego książki. Zgadzam się nawet z wieloma spostrzeżeniami i poglądami Bukowskiego, a co ciekawe, są one ciągle aktualne nawet patrząc na współczesny rynek wydawniczy.
Podobało mi się to, jak przez jego listy przemawia miłość do pisania, mimo że przez wiele lat nie miał z tego praktycznie żadnych korzyści. Był wręcz żywym dowodem, że pasja jest niejednokrotnie ważniejsza od pieniędzy.
"Jedynymi pisarzami, którzy dobrze piszą, są ci, którzy muszą pisać, żeby nie zwariować."
Generalnie jestem już pewna, że na pewno sięgnę po kolejne jego książki. Zgadzam się nawet z wieloma spostrzeżeniami i poglądami Bukowskiego, a co ciekawe, są one ciągle aktualne nawet patrząc na współczesny rynek wydawniczy.
Podobało mi się to, jak przez jego listy przemawia miłość do pisania, mimo że przez wiele lat nie miał z tego praktycznie żadnych korzyści. Był wręcz żywym dowodem, że pasja jest niejednokrotnie ważniejsza od pieniędzy.
"Jedynymi pisarzami, którzy dobrze piszą, są ci, którzy muszą pisać, żeby nie zwariować."
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