Probably the "chopped-up-prose" thing, I guess,
> Someone at the local strip mall said the old man looked like Jimmy
> Buffet, so he asked me who he is for much the same reason. My answer
> was, "Well, he isn't Warren Buffet; I think he's a musician." I
> looked up Jimmy Buffet, and excepting the ubiquitous Hawaiian shirt, I
> still think the old man looks more like Teddy Roosevelt. "Bully!"
Interesting that Buffett /and/ Roosevelt come to mind constantly when
I'm around Barfield, he's got the swashbucking sailor-rough riding
warrior poet thing down, and have lived it since I first met him as a
kid.
On the Buffett angle, here's probably the ultimate JB song-poem:
A Pirate Looks At Forty
Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall
You've seen it all, you've seen it all
Watched the men who rode you switch from sails to steam
And in your belly you hold the treasures few have ever seen
Most of 'em dream, most of 'em dream
Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late
I've done a bit of smugglin', I've run my share of grass
I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast
Never meant to last, never meant to last
And I have been drunk now for over two weeks
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks
But I got stop wishin', got to go fishin'
Down to rock bottom again
Just a few friends, just a few friends
(instrumental)
I go for younger women, lived with several awhile
Though I ran 'em away, they'd come back one day
Still could manage to smile
Just takes a while, just takes a while
Mother, mother ocean, after all the years I've found
My occupational hazard being my occupation's just not around
I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown
Coda:
I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown
-Jimmy Buffett, 1974
> Wry little poem by Buk, thanks for posting.
It probably goes without saying that Buk's one of my favorites, though
his name hasn't come up much lately (the last time was prbably when I
compared Chuck's "shock" style to Buk)... Dale Houstman gave me a very
memorable paperback book blurb quote when he wrote that I was "...a
better poet than Bukowski..." or something similar.
Anyhow, I don't have the book handy and no time to Google (a few hours
of sailboat repair await today) but "Boarding House Madrigals" is the
poetry book of Buk's I'd name as a favorite out of the dozens out
there, containing many favorites which were fun to read aloud when the
time came to wake up the audience. The one where Buk writes
"...My old lady wouldn't let me sleep..." a few more lines "...so I
killed her."
and the one where he wakes up from a drunken night and finds his
friend with his big toes in his old lady's... well, you can guess
where, or know the poem already... I might look these up later, if
they're online somewhere, and post them here... great stuff.
--
"God's Toybox" by Dockery-Beck:
http://www.myspace.com/shadowvilleallstars
"Hasty Pudding" by Dockery-Conley:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Ah, okay... I was really wondering where Vera came to be compared to Buk...
never really saw her as the Barfly type...
>
> I might look these up later, if
> they're online somewhere, and post them here...
There is room. :)
> great stuff.
You say.
AJ
>> > At least I should know whose style I'm copying!
:)
>>
>> Hey, I never said you were copying Bukowski; a glance at dates should
>> be enough to dispel that idea. What I said is that you wrote in the
>> same Naturalistic style.
There are numerous court cases involving artistic style,
but only related to graphic art that has an easily discernable style.
>>
>> That Naturalism or "Realism" already looked dominant in cntemporary
>> poetry in the early 70s (here in Canada, anyway). Bukowski's not its
>> inventor, just an exemplar.
Radio DJs make the poets look sick.
>
> Ah, okay... I was really wondering where Vera came to be compared to Buk...
> never really saw her as the Barfly type...
Ah, okay...
AJ
The old man only looks like Teddy. The old salts I knew were my
father's friends, but they weren't poets. I spent a lot time on boats
as a kid. I cleaned a lot of fish, caught some too.
Anyway, Barfield, whom I only know from what you've written, seems
like a character from a southern gothic novel, eccentric, a little
wild, interesting. I can't fault others for eccentricity, but I'm a
mousy eccentric.
It doesn't surprise me that you'd like Buk and Houstman wouldn't. I
like Buk in small doses; he's not my favorite, but there is a certain
appeal. In case you haven't noticed, Earl Nelson's work is highly
influenced by Buk.
> Anyhow, I don't have the book handy and no time to Google (a few hours
> of sailboat repair await today) but "Boarding House Madrigals" is the
> poetry book of Buk's I'd name as a favorite out of the dozens out
> there, containing many favorites which were fun to read aloud when the
> time came to wake up the audience. The one where Buk writes
>
> "...My old lady wouldn't let me sleep..." a few more lines "...so I
> killed her."
>
> and the one where he wakes up from a drunken night and finds his
> friend with his big toes in his old lady's... well, you can guess
> where, or know the poem already... I might look these up later, if
> they're online somewhere, and post them here... great stuff.
>
Post one when you find it.
Have fun with the boat. I usually get a boat fixing chore put on me
when I visit my sister.
I tend to stay away from bars on hot days because they're so dark and
cool that I dread going back outside until after nightfall... and
stepping outside into the sunshine and sometimes 100+ degree
surroundings is quite a shock, no matter how well prepared for it I
think I may be...
There's the film "Barfly" (with Faye Dunnaway!) which gives a
fictionalized version of Bukowski, that's worth looking for... and
here's a good group of Buk's poems:
http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/charles_bukowski/poems
Well, the common dislike of Bukowski here is pretty interesting, in light of
the firestorm of reaction here recently to another "poet" who has much more
in common with Buk than Vera or Pandora, the
chopped-up-confessional-prose-verse, the "fucken" plain speaking language,
the /punch-line/ zinger at the end... Houstman, in a candid moment, might
call Bukowski's poetry "shit", as he would others using the style... in a
candid moment, or a confused one.
> I like Buk in small doses; he's not my favorite, but there is a certain
appeal.
Well, like Blue's poem about Bukowski, and the flood of Buk-wannabes,
sometimes the navel-gazings laced with "fuckens" and all that are
interesting and amusing, and liven up a poetry reading since there's usually
always a punk or two to jump up with that and scare the manager of the joint
(I remember a few years ago when a host was forced by the managment to
unplug the mic of Joseph Garcia when he went on and on with a poem about
"fucking the wide vagina of the universe" or something like that in cosmic,
sloppy detail... miss old Joe...) but my real favorites are the ones (like
Houstman, Rimbaud, Ginsberg and... yeah, again, Kerouac) who also include
the brilliant flashing chains of images with the gritty facts of passing out
and waking up in the gutter... as I wrote a couple of weeks ago in a post
that seems to have been passed over (since it got no responses):
> >I can't agree with that since Kerouac is a quite brilliant poet, in my
Opinion.
> really? how so? how was Kerouac a "brilliant" poet?
In my opinion he was.
His poems, even more than the other writings, were intended to be flowing
blasts of image and thought, conciously modeled after the feeling evoked by
a free jazz saxophonist, and that he made it work, most notably in his
masterpiece "Mexico City Blues" was pretty brilliant.
Here's an example from MCB (and an aside to Baloney, if you're reading this,
[Which I don't know if you did or not]
I think you might see why I relate Dale Housman's poetry to Beat poems such
as this, as well as the example of William Burroughs I gave earlier), that
shows the flow of image on image in Kerouac's brilliant poetry:
----
230th Chorus
Love's multitudinous boneyard
of decay,
The spilled milk of heroes,
Destruction of silk kerchiefs
by dust storm,
Caress of heroes blindfolded to posts,
Murder victims admitted to this life,
Skeletons bartering fingers and joints.
-Jack Kerouac
----
That's it, my non-expert opinion on why Kerouac was a "brilliant" poet, take
it or leave it.
In fact, how about you follow your own "rules" and explain for a few
paragraphs how Kerouac's poetry was /not/ "brilliant"?
Nope, you'll no doubt just jeer at "Will Dockery" and manage to avoid
anything else, am I right?
Here's Kerouac's "mission statement" on what his poetry was intended, and
did, achieve:
"I want to be considered a jazz poet blowing a long blues in an
afternoon jam session on Sunday. I take 242 choruses; my ideas vary
and sometimes roll from chorus to chorus or from halfway through a
chorus to halfway into the next." -Jack Kerouac
And, sorry, pal, but here's an expert opinion cut-n-paste that supports my
opinion that Kerouac's poetry is indeed "brilliant":
"Kerouac is being popularized as an icon of culture - my regret is that
sight of him as an artist will be lost.. We'll know his name and some work
considered typical. But we'll miss one of the finest, brightest sensoriums
that has graced verse with intelligence and intellect. [...] Kerouac is best
known for his novel "On the Road", but his masterpiece is "Mexico City
Blues", a religious poem startling in its majesty and comedy and gentleness
and vision. [...] Kerouac is known worldwide as a novelist. He is sometimes
also known as the writer of haiku-type poems or intermediate-length poems on
the subject of Rimbaud or Budhism. But Kerouac is little known as the author
of several major poems which he considered to be blues works. These books
include the unpublished Washington D.C. Blues, San Francisco Blues, and
Berkeley Blues. They range in style from Dos Passos-like descriptive verse
to poetrylike journals. Outstanding in all modern poetry is the epic- length
Mexico City Blues. [...] The rules of Mexico City Blues were that they
should be written on the pages of a pocket notebook such as Kerouac nearly
always carried. Each page of the notebook would be a chorus. Eventually, in
the developing structure of the poem, each line becomes a complete, and
whole,independent image. [...] A further rule of Mexico City Blues was that
it must all be spontaneous - all a risk - a free, inspired, or noninspired,
flowing statement, liberated from judgements about its value. It was done
for itself - as an organism lives for itself." -Michael McClure
Urm, well, that's where I'm at, or hoping to /get to/.
> In case you haven't noticed, Earl Nelson's work is highly
> influenced by Buk.
This is the "Ghost of C Earl Nelson", who had a flurry of posts here a week
or so ago? I read through some of that, and I guess you're right... as far
as that sort of thing goes, I guess I prefer Chuck's "Perfect Angel" or...
"Spectre".