Poetry tells it as it is. And that means it's not always roses and sunshine. Poets are not oblivious to the bad stuff in life - on the contrary, they feel it keenly.
Poems like this one from Charles Bukowski make us think, hit us between the eyes with the truth, as devastating as a bullet. This is a poem that scrapes bone. 'there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock.'
You can't avoid the truth of reality. But you can try and hope against it, rise above it, even change it. To be a realist, even a dirty realist like Bukowski, does not mean resigning to cynicism. Poetry is the complete opposite of cynicism, filled with realisation, reaction and the hint of hope.
The Crunch - Charles Bukowski
too much too little
too fat
too thin
or nobody.
laughter or
tears
haters
lovers
strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks
armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.
an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock
people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone
untouched
unspoken to
watering a plant.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.
but sometimes I think about
it.
the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.
too much
too little
too fat
too thin
or nobody
more haters than lovers.
people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.
meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.
there must be a way.
surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.
who put this brain inside of me?
it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.
it will not say
"no."
I love how hugely varied the poems you select are. Not just in content, but in writing style, voice, etc. It's lovely to see.
ReplyDeleteI read a TON of poetry, and it's nice to see some on this page that I've never read before.
Thank you very much Cheryl. I try to vary them as much as I can! Thought there were a few too many nicey-nicey ones there, needed a good dash of dirty realism from Charles Bukowski to stir things up! He's one of my favourite poets.
ReplyDeleteIt's really amazing the range of style out there! There's a poem for every subject matter under the sun it seems, and so many different voices too.
Feel free to suggest any poems or poets you'd like to see on here!!