Wind the Clock

Charles Bukowski simply touches my soul...
The story began like this: I was on my blogger dashboard and I realized that I had one more follower: I have a few followers so that I can easily keep track of them :) First I have thought about how pathetic I am, then I started to read my new follower's blog. And I got shot by the killer melodies of Dadafon. A great song, slow day, from the soundtrack of Factotum was playing on the blog. Lyrics of the song are from a wonderful Bukowski poem called "wind the clock" which was published in the book "What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire". I am writing the poem below:

it's just a slow day moving into a slow night.

it doesn't matter what you do

everything just stays the same.

the cats sleep it off, the dogs don't

bark,

it's just a slow day moving into a slow night.

there's nothing even dying,

it's just more waiting through a slow day moving

into a slow night.

you don't even hear the water running,

the walls just stand there

and the doors don't open.

it's just a slow day moving into a slow night.

the rain has stopped,

you can't hear a siren anywhere,

your wristwatch has a dead battery,

the cigarette lighter is out of fluid,

it's just a slow day moving into a slow night,

it's just more waiting through a slow day moving

into a slow night

like tomorrow's never going to come

and when it does

it'll be the same damn thing.

Listening to the song and reading the words make me feel so real and relieved. Mmmmm.
Turkish translation of the book is "Bir tek ben miyim böyle yaşayan?". The translator is Avi Pardo who is the best when it comes to translate Bukowski books into Turkish. I am giving the Turkish version of the poem, "saati kur", here:

ağır bir geceye doğru ilerleyen ağır bir gün
ne yaparsan yap
her şey olduğu gibi kalıyor.
kediler uyukluyor, köpekler
havlamıyor,
ağır bir geceye doğru ilerleyen ağır bir gün.
ölen bir şey bile yok.
ağır bir geceye doğru ilerleyen ağır bir günde
bir bekleyiş.
su borularından akan su sesi bile duyulmuyor.
duvarlar öylece duruyor,
kapılar açılmıyor.
ağır bir geceye doğru ilerleyen ağır bir gün.
yağmur dindi,
bir siren sesi bile yok,
kol saatinin pili bitmiş,
çakmağın gazı tükenmiş,
ağır bir geceye doğru ilerleyen ağır bir gün,
bir bekleyiş daha ağırbir geceye doğru
ilerleyen ağır bir günde
yarın asla gemeyecekmiş gibi
ve geldiğinde
aynı lanet şey olacak.

To me, what makes Charles Bukowski is a genius is that he merely wrote about his daily life and he did it by using a raw language. Reading the daily observations of a regular guy who writes with no regard to literary worries and artistic concerns is very likely to be a boring experience but it is not true for Bukowski.
His frank words and brutal style will always heal my deprived soul.
Thank you Hank, thank you Avi, thank you Euphrates :)