Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Source

[In all fairness to the man, I should offer the original. I love it when awesome poems blow the socks off of high schoolers.]

For Jane: With All the Love I Had, Which Was Not Enough

I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick
up her lovely
all her loveliness gone,
and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods,
chips of blinking things,
idols, pills, bread,
fathoms, risks,
knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of two gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this
and I know
her dress upon my arm
they will not
give her back to me.

Charles Bukowski

[In working with the poems, one of the exercises is to pick the line that you think is Mr. B's favorite. This one was easy.]

Labels: , ,


Blogger Lee said...

What an exquisite expression of pain and loss. I can identify. Thanks for sharing this, Paschal.


5:41 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Lee, I'd say that Bukowski was the hierophant of pain and loss; it is a beautiful elegy.

5:55 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home