Henry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books
Charles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.
Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).
He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
Hoeveel revivals verdient een schrijver? Bukowski wordt keer op een keer opnieuw herontdekt door een nieuwe schare - en verdwijnt volgens mij even vaak in de uitverkoop. There's No Business is hardcore Bukowski en Crumb doet er een schep (stront) bovenop. Het verhaal over de komiek Manny die wordt voorbijgestreefd is veelzeggend. Vroeger was het beter maar eigenlijk was het toen al shit. Verval en onfatsoenlijkheid in optima forma.
Short story by bukowski, fairly simple and straight forward, but the illustrations by r crumb are good and its alright for what it is, but its nothing compared to what is in hot water music.
Yeah, Crumb is good and is a perfect fit for Bukowski, but did this "story" need to be told? No. Did this "story" need to be read? No. Not worth your time. And certainly not worth mine.
I keep thinking I've outgrown Bukowski and I keep proving that hypothesis. Why books that have been sitting on my Goodreads To-Read pile for years have such a strong pull, I'll never know. No book left behind, I reckon.
Another wry and witty short by Bukowski which is based on a failing comedy club performer and his growing ineptitude to deliver great material to his audience who eventually turn on him and make him the joke of the story.
The illustrations of Robert Crumb definitely compliment this piece too.
Combining Bukowski and Crumb is like combining whiskey and sour. There's nothing sweet about it, and you know it'll burn, but it is still oh so good. This is a short tale about a hapless has-been comic and what might be his final show. Crumb's illustrations do not disappoint.
This grim but funny short story is a good point of entry into the back alley world of Charles Bukowski, poet laureate of the pre-apocalypse America of the 70s and 80s.
Bleak, visceral, gross, and seedy, a typical Bukowski story taking place in a Las Vegas lounge with a has-been singer, but highlighted with R. Crumb's absolutely fitting art.
It's hard taking 500ish characters' long books seriously, unless it's poetry. I gave it two because it made me laugh now and again, or else it would have been a one. Sometimes short stories feel like smalltalk on paper. I dread smalltalk.