Poems of Buk, original texts

Biographie de Bukowski

Poèmes de Buk, traduction

LITURature

POEMS OF BUKOWSKI

YOUNG IN NEW ORLEANS

starving there, sitting around the bars,

and at night walking the streets for

the moonlight always seemed fake

to me, maybe it was,

and in the French Quarter I watched

the horses and buggies going by,

everybody sitting high in the open

carriages, the black driver, and in

back the man and the woman,

usually young and always white.

and I was always white.

and hardly charmed by the

world.

New Orleans was a place to

hide.

I could piss away my life,

unmolested.

except for the rats.

the rats in my dark small room

very much resented sharing it

with me.

they were large and fearless

and stared at me with eyes

that spoke

an unblinking

death

one of Lorca's best lines

is,

"agony, always

agony ..."

think of this when you

kill a

cockroach or

pick up a razor to

shave

or awaken in the morning

to

face the

sun.

in the winter on my

ceiling my eyes the size of street-

lamps. I have 4 feet like a mouse but

wash my own underwear-bearded and

hung over and a hard-on and no lawyer. I

have a face like a washrag. I sing

love songs and carry steel.

I would rather die than cry. I can't

stand hounds can't live without them.

I hang my head against the white

refrigerator and want to scream like

the last weeping of life forever but

I am bigger then the mountains.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him

I say, stay in there, I’m not going

To let anybody see you

There’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and

inhale cigarette smoke

and the whores the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he’s in there

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him, I say

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

You want to screw up the works?

You want to blow my booksales in Europe

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody’s asleep

I say, I know that you're there

so don't be so sad

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it’s nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don’t

weep, do

you?

© Black Sparrow Press