he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off…"
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left…
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows…
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
-
One of My Old Favorites I Forgot
From guest Ward Bones (contact)
My brilliant ancient cat didn't make it. What a healing grace to read this after her death. -
One Tough Poem
This poem is so powerful that it's scary.
Charley Noble -
From guest perfect_angle@hotmail.com (contact)
Spot on man. This guys says it as it is and only he knows for sure what he's saying cos I'm not him but relate to the cat and relate to him for relating to the cat and if I continue there will be a poem about a relation -
-
Bukowski always has a way at either offending me in some way or making me say "that was amazing and brilliant". One things for sure, I've always loved his honest, in your face wording.
This poem happened to be one of the amazing, brilliant ones. -
-
It's a keeper!
Thanks for pointing out this one to me. It's a keeper!
Charley Noble -
bukowski never ceases to amaze me with his writing. it's so straight-forward. dead-on and to-the-point. but still so amazing. he writes with such beauty, it seems like it just spills out of him without him even trying. he's not trying to make things seem beautiful, he's just saying them, but because he's saying them and because of the way he says them, even the most horrible things seem beautiful.
I love this poem. I'm not sure there's anything else I can really say. I'm envious of his ability to write such amazing poetry and I definitely intend to read one of his books someday really soon. -
they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows...
The way I know I've just read some extraordinary poetry is when after I'm done, I sit there and just kinda do a cross-eyed drool deal...lol. And this made me do that for at least ten minutes...when every fiber is struggling to absorb the stunning brilliance, not only of the outward expression but the inner genius...it is times like these that I realize what I'd look and feel like if I ever encountered god...
Adding your comment:
1 - 5 of 5
