Charles Bukowski
Bio
1813 - 1883
red mercedes
retired
working it out
beasts bounding through time —
trashcan Lives
the lost generation
no help for that
my non-ambitious ambition
education
downtown L.A.
another casualty
driving test
that's why funerals are so sad
cornered
bumming with Jane
darkness
termites of the page
a good time
the still trapeze
January
sunny side down
the man in the brown suit
a magician, gone...
well, that's just the way it is...
the chemistry of things
rift
my friend, the parking lot attendant
miracle
a non-urgent poem
my first affair with that older woman
the freeway life
the player
p.o. box 11946
poor Al
for my ivy league friends:
helping the old
bad times at the 3rd and Vermont hotel
the Master Plan
garbage
my vanishing act
let's make a deal
16-bit Intel 8088 chip
zero
putrefaction
I'll take it . . .
supposedly famous
the last shot
whorehouse
starting fast
the crazy truth
drive through hell
for the concerned:
a funny guy
shoes
coffee
together
close to greatness
the stride
final story
friends within the darkness
death sat on my knee and cracked with laughter
oh yes
O tempora! O mores!
the passing of a great one
the wine of forever
true
Glenn Miller
Emily Bukowski
some suggestions
invasion
the finest of the breed
hard times
longshot
concrete
Gay Paree
I thought the stuff tasted worse than usual
the blade
the boil
not listed
I’m not a misogynist
the lady in the castle
relentless as the tarantula
their night
huh?
it’s funny, isn’t it? #1
it’s funny, isn’t it? #2
the beautiful lady editor
about the PEN conference
everybody talks too much
me and my buddy
song
practice
love poem to a stripper
my buddy
Jon Edgar Webb
thank you
the magic curse
party’s over
no nonsense
escape
wearing the collar
a cat is a cat is a cat is a cat
marching through Georgia
gone
I meet the famous poet
seize the day
the shrinking island
magic machine
those girls we followed home
fractional note
a following
a tragic meeting
an ordinary poem
from an old dog in his cups…
let ’em go
trying to make it
the death of a splendid neighborhood
you get so alone at times that it just makes sense
this
a good gang, after all
hot
late late late poem
3 a.m. games:
someday I’m going to write a primer
help wanted
sticks and stones…
working
over done
our laughter is muted by their agony
murder
what am I doing?
nervous people
how is your heart?
forget it
quiet
it’s ours
Vocalist - Tom Zingarelli
Poem Source: You Get So Alone At Times ... Ecco - HarperCollins Publisher - 1986
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