some dogs who sleep At night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.
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That last sentence is so effing amazing, I can't even tell you. Bukowski kicks and I haven't read this volume of poetry and haven't encountered this poem before, but I'm glad I happened upon it, because it was mind-blowing. I don't know how he did it; I'm so envious.
"your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you"
Those lines make me sad; they make me think of the past and it gets me all sick and pathetic-feeling. I love that he can get that reaction of me. "you were killed by knowing too much" And sometimes it feels like we know too much and it just seems to kill us... A toast to Bukowski. -
This is a terrific poem. I have not read it before. She must have been quite a woman for this poet not to forget her all those years. What else is there to know except the poet loved her very much.
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Drunk, yes. Violent...No. If you knew him you would be able to classify personality traits. The man was simply a great mind in a rotten time. If you want raw, read Bukowski. Jane was very dear to this mans soul... Most of us realize that unless you are completely numb, it is hard in the light of b.s. to truly care for much. A fellow soul in dire straits is sometimes the only thing there is. And it was good.
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It's amazing how such a drunk and such a violent man could be so tender- on teh other hand it's not surprising at all. It seems that those who walk through hell know best where to find the tenderness- we appreciate those who walk next to us so much more
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I sometimes wonder what the women in Bukowski's life were really like. Love his sentiment here. Haven't heard the term dame since the last jimmy cagney movie I saw. here's a drink to your bones
that this dog still dreams about. Hehehe, he's a hell of a guy too.
Desiree
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