Charles Bukowski
King of the bums
A lot of writers bash Bukowski. It’s almost a sport, a very easy sport. Like kickball. No, Bukowski is not the pinnacle. Yes, Bukowski-worship is annoying. Worship of any author is annoying. But why is it ok to worship someone like Billy Collins or Sharon Olds? “But, but, but those people are REAL writers, and Bukowski was not a REAL writer.” You never hear people say, “You write just like Billy Collins!” or “You write just like Jorie Graham!” Or if they do say it, they mean it as a compliment. Raymond Carver wrote in such a similar style that some of his and Bukowski’s stories could be interchanged and no one would know. We should not feel sorry for Bukowski. He made plenty of money and was famous in his lifetime. Swimming lazily in his pool, just like Henry Miller. At one point he said in a poem: “It’s so nice to be Bukowski.” But, really, who would have wanted Bukowski’s life, except for maybe a few years when he was in his late 50s, early 60s? Who would have wanted his face? Who would have wanted his parents? Who would have wanted most of his women? He was “the ugliest man in the world”, a most unlikely success story, and the young clean-faced writers couldn’t forgive him for that, and still can’t.
It seems to be the pivotal point in a young writer’s life when he claims he’s coming out of his “Bukowski stage.” Next, he’ll tell us Bukowski was a hack and…
