sábado, 6 de fevereiro de 2016

the pleasures of the damned *poems, 1951-1993

dark night poem

they say that
nothing is wasted:
either that
it all is.

liberated woman and liberated man

look there.
the one you considered killing yourself
you saw her the other day
getting out of her car
in the Safeway parking lot.
she was wearing a torn green
dress and old dirty
her face raw with living.
she saw you
so you walked over
and spoke and then
her hair did not glisten
her eyes and her conversation were
where was she?
where had she gone?
the one you were going to kill yourself

the conversation finished
she walked into the store
and you looked at her automobile
and even that
which used to drive up and park
in front of your door
with such verve and in a spirit of
now looked
like a junkyard

you decided not to shop at
you’ll drive 6 blocks
east and buy what you need
at Ralphs.

getting into your car
you are quite pleased that
you didn’t
kill yourself;
everything is delightful and
the air is clear.
your hands on the wheel,
you grin as you check for traffic in
the rearview mirror.

my man, you think,
you’ve saved yourself
for somebody else, but

a slim young creature walks by
in a miniskirt and sandals
showing a marvelous leg.
she’s going in to shop at Safeway

you turn off the engine and
follow her in.

advice for some young man in the year 2064 A.D.

let me speak as a friend
although the centuries hang
between us and neither you nor I
can see the moon.

be careful less the onion blind the eye
or the snake sting
or the beetle possess the house
or the lover your wife
or the government your child
or the wine your will
or the doctor your heart
or the butcher your belly
or the cat your chair
or the lawyer your ignorance of the law
or the law dressed as a uniformed man and killing you.

dismiss perfection as an ache of the
but do not give in to the mass modesty of
easy imperfection.
and remember
the belly of the whale is laden with

great men.

Charles Bukowski

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