Bukowski’s Poem About Poets

Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I came across this poem by Bukowski and wanted to share with all you fellow poets out there.  It’s taken from Charles Bukowski‘s The Continual Condition: Poems

 

A WASTED PROFESSION

 

all the words, you know, it’s hard to tell if you’re truly on course or

on some vanity trip: how much can be said, how much has

already been said, and why?

other writers’ words do me little good, then, why should mine be

special?

all my words…do they create

laughter through the flame?

 

the same  poets reading over and

over again in the same venues; I am embarrassed for them and for

myself:

do we really think that we are fashioning speech more un-

usual than a stock market or weather

report?

 

all the words–we type away–on and on–most of us living lives

ordinary and without courage–are we sick to think that our

speech is

exceptional?

 

I don’t like us and I never did–is there anything worse

than a creature who lives only to write

poetry?

 

I’m not sure how I feel about this idea, but I love the poem.  I love to be a poet.

The Continual Condition  Copyright@2009 by Linda Lee Bukowski.  All rights reserved.

6 thoughts on “Bukowski’s Poem About Poets

  1. I like it and completely agree with him. Never read this poem before today. It reminds me of one I wrote back in January with a similiar theme:

    A Writer’s Fate

    How many times can I write
    that which has been written;
    read that which I have read
    seventy times seven times?

    For how long can I search
    for new paths to express
    the same damn message
    over and over again?

    Exasperated, my pen falls
    and black puddles my feet.

    I am drowning in a pool
    of unwritten words which

    I must exorcise like
    venomous spew

    to burn holes in these pages
    and devour flesh from my fingers

    until the inkwell dries
    and my bones disintegrate.

    Like

  2. The bit about “most of us living lives ordinary and without courage” bothers me. I have to assume he means writers/poets, but how can that be his opinion of writers? Doesn’t wondering if what he says matters make him fearful to expose it to the world? Whatever we write, whether or not it’s confessional, says something about who we are, how we think, what we value. How could it not?

    For me, writing will always feel courageous, because exposing myself this way makes me feel vulnerable and scared. I put it out there anyway (though I write so much more than I post!) because some fearful things are better done than avoided–or kept inside to fester. Hanging our soiled sheets in the garden may start the neighbors talking, but the sunshine will bleach the stains, and the air will freshen the sour smells.

    Writers, Old Mr. Bukowski, are brave.

    Liked by 1 person

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