I am writing about my man, Charles Bukowski, again. The poem I am sharing today is the opening piece of his book named What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire that was published in 1999. I wish I could be reading life in such a simple way which is expressed in the poem below: Reading the meaning in the actions, rather than listening too many stories from too many people...
Enjoy :)
my father and the bum
my father believed in work.
he was proud to have a
job.
sometimes he didn't have a
job and then he was very
ashamed.
he'd be so ashamed that he'd
leave the house in the morning
and then come back in the evening
so the neighbors wouldn't
know.
me,
I liked the man next door:
he just sat in a chair in
his back yard and threw darts
at some circles he had painted
on the side of his garage.
in Los Angeles in 1930
he had a wisdom that
Goethe, Hegel, Kierkegaard,
Nietzsche, Freud,
Jaspers, Heidegger and
Toynbee would find hard
to deny.