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The People Look Like Flowers at Last : New Poems
by Charles Bukowski and John Martin


Overview -

the gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;Benny finally got off the stuff and Betty now has a jobas a waitress; andthe chimney sweep was quite delicate as hegiggled up through the soot.I walked miles through the city and recognizednothing as a giant claw ate at my stomach while the inside of my head felt airy as if I was about to go mad.it's not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaningnothing, there's no release, just gurus and self-appointed gods and hucksters.the more people say, the less there is to say.even the best books are dry sawdust.  Read more...


 
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More About The People Look Like Flowers at Last by Charles Bukowski; John Martin
 
 
 
Overview

the gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;Benny finally got off the stuff and Betty now has a jobas a waitress; andthe chimney sweep was quite delicate as hegiggled up through the soot.I walked miles through the city and recognizednothing as a giant claw ate at my stomach while the inside of my head felt airy as if I was about to go mad.it's not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaningnothing, there's no release, just gurus and self-appointed gods and hucksters.the more people say, the less there is to say.even the best books are dry sawdust.

--from "fingernails; nostrils; shoelaces"

 
Details
  • ISBN-13: 9780060577070
  • ISBN-10: 006057707X
  • Publisher: Ecco Pr
  • Publish Date: April 2007
  • Page Count: 299
  • Dimensions: 1 x 6.25 x 9 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 1.05 pounds


Related Categories

Books > Poetry > American - General

 
Publishers Weekly Reviews

Publishers Weekly® Reviews

  • Reviewed in: Publishers Weekly, page 33.
  • Review Date: 2007-04-16
  • Reviewer: Staff

In a posthumously published poem, Bukowski says he's succeeded "If you read this after I am long dead." By that standard, he is indeed a success: this fifth—and purportedly last—posthumous book published since his death in 1994 offers his still-large audience more of what made Bukowski (1921–1994) and his hard-drinking alter ego Henry Chinaski famous, as chronicled, for example, in the films Barfly and Factotum. Rapid, chatty free verse records his devotion to racehorses, boxing and drinking; his sexual exploits and failures; his contempt for highbrow, hoity-toity literati, and his countervailing yearnings for literary fame. Early on, the poems show unapologetic nostalgia: in "the 1930s," "the landlord/ only got his rent/ when you had/ it." Some of the most memorable poems here record the poet's anxieties and delights while caring for his daughter. The final pages are devoted to fate, last things, old age, mortality and retrospectives on Bukowski's hard-drinking, prolific career: "we were not put here to/ enjoy easy days and/ nights." Bukowski's style did not change in his last years; readers who have already written him off are unlikely to change their minds. Fans, however, may discover one of his strongest, most affecting books. (Apr.)

 
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