Charles Bukowski - What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through The Fire

 

I first found out about Buk probably close to 40 years ago through a woman I was dating at the time and while he sometimes is a bit foul'n'mean, there's a lot about him that I've related to - his desperation, his circumstances, his trouble with women - and I've always appreciated the way he could put the word on the page in a simple'n'direct, yet clever and, yes, poetic way. He certainly helped me formulate my lyrics, although you might never know that.

Anyway, this is another posthumous collection with works ranging from the years 1970 - 1990 when he lived in the same or similar neighborhoods as I did. Of course, I dig his tales of the old days in Hollywood, his struggles, the streets, the women, the booze, the race track and the words. He reminisces a lot about the past, whatever time that might have been at the time of his writing. The lines are strong, generally, the topics vary wildly, his mind jumping jumping, writing about the things that no one else thinks to write about. It’s best when he runs wild, the topics random, the words powerful - that's where he belongs.

He zeros in on the minuscule details in an offhand way, but with it he can create a scene or flesh out a fantasy. Sometimes it's dull'n'meaningless, sometimes something approaching profound. He might get a bit tired, maudlin or, gawd forbid, a smidge dull now'n'again, but a page later he is back with some true spark. 

No matter how many books of his I own - and I own an embarrassing large number of them - there always seems to be more to discover. I'm looking for more 40 years on, so I guess you could say that I'm a fan. I'm sure that you have your own opinion of him by now, but this is another good one.