To the "beat" of Bukowski
Thanks to Eric for suggesting this post's poet: Charles Bukowski. Bukowski was one of the poets of the so-called "Beat Generation." (Ginsberg, Kerouac, & Ferlinghetti might spring to mind.) The Academy of American Poets (good resource!) has a bit on the Beat movement here: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5646.
It was hard to choose just one of Bukowski's poems, since they are all pretty arresting. [Note: Modest Mouse has a song called "Bukowski." ftp://ekoleda.no-ip.org/Modest%20Mouse%20-%20Good%20News%20For%20People%20Who%20Love%20Bad%20News/Bukowski.mp3]
a smile to remember
we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week
while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
It was hard to choose just one of Bukowski's poems, since they are all pretty arresting. [Note: Modest Mouse has a song called "Bukowski." ftp://ekoleda.no-ip.org/Modest%20Mouse%20-%20Good%20News%20For%20People%20Who%20Love%20Bad%20News/Bukowski.mp3]
a smile to remember
we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week
while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
posted by B. Ryan | 12/26/2005 09:33:00 PM
4 Comments:
Wow.
What an interesting poet to choose. I never heard of the beat poets but enjoyed reading about the Beat Movement a little bit.
This poem really made me think about reality vs. what appears to be reality. Smiling can make someone appear happy but the reality is that the mother is not. The father might not appear as though he is under 'attack from within' but the reality is that he is, according to the author. Is there more to this idea in the poem or did I completely misinterpret it? It seems to relate to the Beat Movement idea of changing consciousness about reality.
Erm... Happy New Year ;)
What do you guys make of the line breaks? Kind of unusual, huh?
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