Munch masterpieces recovered

The BBC reports that The Scream and Madonna were found in a police operation. “We are 100% certain they are the originals. The damage was much less than feared,” police said.

The 9/11 Report: A Graphic Adaptation

Slate is excerpting a graphic adaptation, by Sid Jacobson and Ernie Colón, of The 9/11 Commission Report. The book is due out at the end of the month.

Album art

Some time ago, a student of mine did a story how music is being distributed in the digital age. One thing that kept coming up was the limitations of CD covers. The original artwork that bestowed iconic status to so much good music prior to 1987, when the compact disc was introduced, just doesn’t seem possible anymore. For me, it doesn’t have the same impact when it’s reduced to a 5″x5″ piece of plastic, which may be why you don’t see it so much these days.

Here’s an exhibit I’d like to see come a little closer to home.

Born into this

I don’t know how everyone else who was there last night else felt about it, but I was completely absorbed by “Bukowski:Born Into This.” It seemed a little bit longer than it needed to be, and I wish it had featured more of Bukowsi reading. But the story of this man’s life genuinely moved me.

I don’t know anything about “cinema;” in fact, I rarely go to the movies. I appreciate good storytelling in all of its forms, however, and this documentary was a narrative triumph. The flim clips were often juxtaposed with text, sometimes in very creative ways but, because Bukowski’s writing never bogs the reader down with metaphor and high-minded pretense, it never interfered with the action taking place on the screen. I really liked this technique because, as fascinating as Bukowski’s life was, it seemed to emphasize how he constructed his poetry in a way that was not only true to himself but that speaks clearly to the universal human condition.

The “title track,” as it were, came about two-thirds of the way through the movie and, for me, it said everything I needed to know about his work and his life.

Many thanks to Eddie and Rose for a very enjoyable evening.

Happy Birthday, Hank

Eighty-six years ago today, Charles Bukowski was born in Andernach, Germany. As noted earlier, Eddie and Rose are hosting a special screening of “Bukowski: Born Into This.” Knowing Eduardo as I do, I suspect he held off with his daily submissions of Hank’s poesy over the past few days in a calculated effort to build some anticipation.

Well, with the event upon us, Eddie’s send button is on fire this morning, and even as I prepare this post, the hits keep coming. I’ll try to keep pace throughout the day.

“Happy Birthday,” appeared in The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992)

When Wagner was an
old man
a birthday party was given
in his
honor
and a couple of
youthful
incidental compositions
were played.

Afterwards
he asked,
“who wrote those?”

“You did,” he was
told.

“Ah,” he responded,
“it’s as I have always
suspected: death
then
does have some
virtue.”

Today’s Buk

The Puzzle was published in War All the Time (1984), not long after Bukowski switched from an Olympia typewriter to an IBM Selectric. Coincidentally perhaps, he published four other books in 1984: There’s No Business, Barfly, Horses Don’t Bet On People & Neither Do I and Going Modern.

The Puzzle

My neighbor is a nice guy but he utterly
confounds me:
he gets up very early in the morning, goes
to work;
his wife works, they have two lovely
children;
he is home in the evening, I sometimes see
the children, briefly see the wife;
by 9 p.m. all the lights in their house are out;
and his days repeat themselves like this;
he seems a fairly intelligent man
in his early 30’s;
the only explanation for his
routine is that he must
enjoy his work
believe in God,
sex,
family.

I don’t know why
but over there
I always expect some windows to break suddenly.
I expect to hear some screams
hear obscene language
see lights at 3 a.m.
see flying bottles.

But for 5 years now
his routine has remained the
same.

I take care of these other
things for him
which I don’t think his wife
appreciates:
“Hank, I could have
called the cops
many times but
I haven’t.”

Sometimes I’d like to call the
cops on them
but I don’t think the cops
would understand my
complaint.

Their red lights flashing,
white-faced in
dark blue:

“Sir, there’s no
law against what they
are doing …”

Today’s Buk

“The Genius of the Crowd”

Punk-era NYC

One decade, from 1974 to 1984, is the subject of The Andy Warhol Museum’s summer exhibition, The Downtown Show: The New York Art Scene, 1974-84, on view through October 22, 2006.

The Downtown Show features approximately 175 artists and includes more than 375 paintings, sculpture, drawings, videos and photographs — as well as more than 70 items from Fales Library, New York University’s rare book and manuscript collection. Represented artists include: Vito Acconci, Karen Finley, Cindy Sherman, David Wojnarowicz, Kiki Smith, Jenny Holzer, Nan Goldin, Patti Smith, Nam June Paik, Keith Haring, Richard Hell, Carolee Schneemann, Robert Mapplethorpe, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and many others. Music selections will feature punk, but also reference minimalism and techno.

Today’s Buk

“I would say that Mickey Mouse had a greater influence on the American public than Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Rabelais, Shostakovich, Lenin, and/or Van Gogh. Which say “What?” about the American public. Disneyland remains the central attraction of Southern California, but the graveyard remains our reality.”

— Charles Buskowski, in his first published interview, Chicago Literary Times, 1963

“Poverty” was first published in 1968, in At Terror Street and Agony Way

It is the man you’ve never seen who
keeps you going,
the one who might arrive
someday.

He isn’t out on the streets or
in the buildings or in the
stadiums,
or if he’s there
I’ve missed him somehow.

He isn’t one of our presidents
or statesmen or actors.

I walk down the streets
past drugstores and hospitals and
theatres and cafes
and I wonder if he is there.

I have looked almost half a century
and he has not been seen.

A living man, truly alive,
say when he brings his hands down
from lighting a cigarette
you see his eyes
like the eyes of a tiger staring past
into the wind.

But when the hands come down
it is always the
other eyes
that are there
always always.

And soon it will be too late for me
and I will have lived a life
with drugstores, cats, sheets, saliva,
newspapers, women, doors and other assortments,
but nowhere
a living man.

“Bukowski: Born Into This”

To celebrate the occasion of Charles Bukowski’s birthday, on August 16, Eddie’s Lounge in Columbia, Mo. will screen “Bukowski: Born Into This,” an independent film about the poet which was an Official Selection of both the Sundance Film Festival and the Tribeca Film Festival in 2003.
In preparation for the big event, Eddie has been emailing a couple poems a day to the A-list crowd of invitees. With one week to go, I’ve asked him to share some of his considerable knowledge about Bukowski, who died March 9, 1994, and he most graciously agreed. In the coming days, I’ll be posting some Bukowski poems, courtesy of Eddie, along with any additional commentary he wishes to provide.

Bukowski — or, as he often referred to himself, “Hank” — is often categorized as a “skid row poet,” “celebrated underground writer,” “barroom brawler,” etc. One obituary I read characterized him as a man “… who wallowed in alcohol and other forms of degradation.”

From “The Soul of a Writer,” a 2000 article by Joe Stevens, based on an interview with Bukowski’s wife, Linda:

“Bukowski was a loner. He didn’t have many close friends and bet at the racetrack about four or five days per week. He wrote prolifically, coming out with more than 50 books of prose and poetry. “Notes of a Dirty Old Man” (1969), “Post Office” (1971) and “Ham on Rye” (1982) are a few of his books that have famous passages about drinking, women, madness and failure. The film “Barfly” (1987), written by Bukowski, is a biographical story about a flawed protagonist.

“In addition to his terse, Hemingwayesque writing style, he is known internationally for his image as a seedy drinker-writer who wrote about brothels and bars. While some dismiss him as just an image, a writer without substance, many consider him one of the most influential and innovative underground authors. To these readers, he is an icon with literary depth that is emotional, spiritual and intellectual.”

Sometimes accused of being misanthropic, he was once pointedly asked by an interviewer, “Why don’t you like people?” His response was, “I do like people. I just like them better when they’re not around me.”

Actually, the only people he didn’t like were those who were arrogant, self-important, and pretentious, as well as those whose overly developed sense of propriety and respectability and cautious routine kept them from experiencing much of what life has to offer. He once wrote:

“careful poetry
and careful
people
last
only long
enough
to
die
safely.”

I would suspect that many people who have never heard of Bukowski don’t regard themselves as avid poetry lovers, and their initial reaction after encountering one or two of his poems might be, “Hey, this isn’t the Wordsworth or John Donne or Emily Dickinson that I remember from the poetry unit in my English class.” If they continued reading his work, they’d soon discover a gentle, gracious, and compassionate man who expressed in simple language the great joy and sadness and humor to be found in everyday life.

Anyway, this is all just words about words about words … my only suggestion would be to crack open a beer and sit down with him and hear what he has to say. I think most people would feel like they’ve found a new friend.