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Charles Bukowski examines cats and his childhood in You Get So Alone at Times, a book of poetry that reveals his tender side. He delves into his youth to analyze its repercussions.


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Charles Bukowski examines cats and his childhood in You Get So Alone at Times, a book of poetry that reveals his tender side. He delves into his youth to analyze its repercussions.

30 review for Roter Mercedes: Gedichte 1984 - 1986

  1. 5 out of 5

    Davy Carren

    The library is after me again to return this book to them. I just can't seem to let it go. I've taken to not answering my door in fear of an angry librarian come to collect on a raft of overdue fines. I think I might hide it inside my old toaster for a while just in case they break in and try to take it back. Yes, it's that good. And I'm a cheap bastard.

  2. 4 out of 5

    Madeleine

    Man, I wish you guys could see how banged-up and dog-eared my copy of "You Get So Alone" is. I think that's the only way I can do this collection justice. The poet as an older man lacks the vinegar and vitriol of his younger self, but being eight years from his death certainly infused these poems with the magnetic appeal of a someone who has seen enough to write about it however he damn well pleases. His rage has abated and a brutally subtle wit stepped up to fill its shoes, all to an immensely Man, I wish you guys could see how banged-up and dog-eared my copy of "You Get So Alone" is. I think that's the only way I can do this collection justice. The poet as an older man lacks the vinegar and vitriol of his younger self, but being eight years from his death certainly infused these poems with the magnetic appeal of a someone who has seen enough to write about it however he damn well pleases. His rage has abated and a brutally subtle wit stepped up to fill its shoes, all to an immensely successful result. So it seems like I like Bukowski's poetry the best, but I think it's because of the vast range that a poetry collection lends itself to. This wasn't so much piss and beer and swearing as it was reflection and thoughts on writing and spurts of darkly humorous observation (and, yes, there still are homages to the race track, drunken nights and loose women to give it that brand of Buk's I-don't-know-what). The poems within YGSAATTIJMS showcase my absolute favorite thing about literature's dirtiest old man: his ability to blend crass honesty with delicate beauty, embracing the dualities of the human condition like few others can.

  3. 5 out of 5

    Jareed

    While the Beat Generation was making its headway in literature with the likes of On the Road and Howl, Bukowski was, in most instances, dead drunk. In the post-World War II lit movement where the Beat Generation found its threshold, Bukowski was in engaged in what was to be a ten-year alcohol induced stupor predicated on his failure to initially break in the literary world. He actually wrote in a time after the Beat Generation, and this perhaps have brought contentions of whether he is actually While the Beat Generation was making its headway in literature with the likes of On the Road and Howl, Bukowski was, in most instances, dead drunk. In the post-World War II lit movement where the Beat Generation found its threshold, Bukowski was in engaged in what was to be a ten-year alcohol induced stupor predicated on his failure to initially break in the literary world. He actually wrote in a time after the Beat Generation, and this perhaps have brought contentions of whether he is actually a Beatnik himself. If the Beat Generation talks about bohemian hedonism advancing a firm denial of conformity through experimentation with drugs, repudiation of social constructs of gender and sexuality, negation of societal materialism, and most importantly, the depiction of human condition and emotion in its truest and most explicit state, then, this collection pretty much speaks for itself and saying that he really is part of the generation is not an unfounded conclusion. In this collection, one will see that Bukowski is an honest man, a brutally honest man, whether that honesty is anchored on his drunkenness is something I have yet to read on. The topics are varied, from protitutes, antagonistic views on other writers, drinking, horse racing, hurling invectives, daily life observations, his cats, loneliness, and did I mention drinking? beasts bounding through time Van Gogh writing his brother for paints Hemingway testing his shotgun Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine the impossibility of being human Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town the impossibility of being human Burroughs killing his wife with a gun Mailer stabbing his the impossibility of being human Maupassant going mad in a rowboat Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller the impossibility Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun Lorca murdered in the road by the Spanish troops the impossibility Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench Chatterton drinking rat poison Shakespeare a plagiarist Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness the impossibility the impossibility Nietzsche gone totally mad the impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and out out and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light toward us impossibly. As the title would suggest, loneliness abound the poems, but underneath it, just beyond the listless landscape that define most of our lives, lives a triumphant man who seem to have come into terms with loneliness itself not by finding meaning in others but by remaining firm and steadfast, unyielding, choosing to live in loneliness itself. how is your heart? ...what matters most is how well you walk through the fire. Indeed Bukowski, indeed!

  4. 4 out of 5

    Cheryl

    You get so alone at times that it just makes sense to walk into a bookstore, flip through this book, take it to your table, buy a vanilla latte, and become immersed in words that seem simple, yet they have so much depth. It just makes sense to buy this collection, read it slowly, and spend a couple of weeks with verse arranged in such a way they pierce the everydayness. It just makes sense to spend some time with a poet like Bukowski, who is not afraid to write about the ordinary, flawed self: s You get so alone at times that it just makes sense to walk into a bookstore, flip through this book, take it to your table, buy a vanilla latte, and become immersed in words that seem simple, yet they have so much depth. It just makes sense to buy this collection, read it slowly, and spend a couple of weeks with verse arranged in such a way they pierce the everydayness. It just makes sense to spend some time with a poet like Bukowski, who is not afraid to write about the ordinary, flawed self: sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted-- stretched there upon my bed in the dark looking upward at the ceiling I get what many will consider an obnoxious thought: it's still nice to be Bukowski. (from "well, that's just the way it is…") Sometimes it just makes sense to read poetry, so you see narrative appear in line format, so you read stories rearranged succinctly in poetic style. It just makes sense when words appear so simply, yet so poignantly: there's nothing to discuss there's nothing to remember there's nothing to forget it's sad and it's not sad (from "the finest of the breed") Bukowski was an alcoholic who had a tainted history with women, this is clear when you read this collection, and in some places it gets a bit repetitive. I was lured by the title of this collection and I really did fall in love with the singularity of most of these poems. I'm just not in love with the collection, with the poems chosen to be pieced together (some poems could have been excluded). Call it an editing thing for me. But really, when it comes to style, the guy had it. Some favorites: "oh yes" "for my ivy league friends" "bumming with Jane" "no help for that" "downtown L.A." "miracle" "marching through georgia" "beasts bounding through time"

  5. 5 out of 5

    Aad

    --beasts bounding through time-- Van Gogh writing his brother for paints Hemingway testing his shotgun Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine the impossibility of being human Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town the impossibility of being human Burroughs killing his wife with a gun Mailer stabbing his the impossibility of being human Maupassant going mad in a rowboat Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot Crane off the back of a boat into the prope --beasts bounding through time-- Van Gogh writing his brother for paints Hemingway testing his shotgun Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine the impossibility of being human Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town the impossibility of being human Burroughs killing his wife with a gun Mailer stabbing his the impossibility of being human Maupassant going mad in a rowboat Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller the impossibility Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun Lorca murdered in the road by the Spanish troops the impossibility Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench Chatterton drinking rat poison Shakespeare a plagiarist Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness the impossibility the impossibility Nietzsche gone totally mad the impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and out out and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light toward us impossibly.

  6. 5 out of 5

    Natalie

    This book makes me wonder if Charles Bukowski was the loneliest man on Earth. (Not as an insult) I'll further explain my feelings towards this book with the texts exchanged between me and a friend (starting with me): - "It's funny, the reason I can't just sit through a bukowski book and finish it at once is because he actually kinda starts to annoy me after a while... ha" - "I can see that. But how so?" - "It's too hard to explain in a text or even a few sentences, we'll just have to look at the boo This book makes me wonder if Charles Bukowski was the loneliest man on Earth. (Not as an insult) I'll further explain my feelings towards this book with the texts exchanged between me and a friend (starting with me): - "It's funny, the reason I can't just sit through a bukowski book and finish it at once is because he actually kinda starts to annoy me after a while... ha" - "I can see that. But how so?" - "It's too hard to explain in a text or even a few sentences, we'll just have to look at the book together sometime so I can explain. I still love him but if me and him were friends, we'd probably fight all the time just like he did with his girlfriends, except without being his girlfriend." But you see, the point here really is, he obviously gets people talking about him, so I guess he wins. But I think I know a few reasons why. He is "brutally honest" most of the time, which most people are afraid of. He's not afraid of talking shit about anyone, including himself, and he'll tell stories of just about anyone he's had in his life. I think this is what makes readers feel like they're really in on something special, or feel some kind of connection with him. People are more easily drawn to other people who open themselves up and share things with you, and sometimes Bukowski's poems are more like a diary. Much of this book is a diary of the past. (There's a part of me that looks forward to being old and lonely and feeling comfortable writing whatever I want about practically anyone because most of them probably aren't in my life anymore... is that bad?) Also, this book has both gems and crap, which is probably why he gets so many mixed reactions, and explains why he gets talked about so much. It's a matter of which ones you consider gems and which ones you consider crap. I think it's a bit much when people think every single poem is amazing and genius and incredibly insightful and truthful. Some of his poems really are just the result of a lonely, drunk old man bitching, perhaps with a tiny sprinkle of "I'm bitter and you should love me because I'm better than everyone else." The reason he's interesting is because he likes to blend the two - gems and crap - and often treats them as one in the same, and each reader has a different perception of which is which. The reason I still love him besides the many moments he annoys the crap out of me is because when he doesn't annoy me, there are plenty of other moments where I swear he could have been reading my mind and writing from my own heart.

  7. 5 out of 5

    Kathryn

    I think there is blood on my Bukowski book. Of course, the book is not mine. It is an ILL copy but I'm pretty sure the dried stains on the bottom right corners is blood. I wonder where the book has been. I've tried to not touch the area. This is another excellent collection. Except for a few poems here and there that I did not react to, every one was memorable and true. I dread the day I run out of new-to-me Bukowski poetry. Many of the writer's topics were the same, whores and other poets to name I think there is blood on my Bukowski book. Of course, the book is not mine. It is an ILL copy but I'm pretty sure the dried stains on the bottom right corners is blood. I wonder where the book has been. I've tried to not touch the area. This is another excellent collection. Except for a few poems here and there that I did not react to, every one was memorable and true. I dread the day I run out of new-to-me Bukowski poetry. Many of the writer's topics were the same, whores and other poets to name two, though the poems about other poets did not feel quite so antagonistic as in the last collection I read. I think Bukowski was feeling his own worth a bit more here. He sounded comfortable with himself and his life choices in many of the poems. He also often mentioned his cats. I like knowing he was a cat person. Road Rage was another noticable topic, along with the Bomb, impending death, drinking with friends, drinking alone, life in L.A., digs at society and where society was headed (he was not off the mark in my opinion), and refections of once being a starving artist. As the latest published collection I have so far read, there was a great deal more reflection going on and I liked it. As the title suggestions, much of the writing felt lonely. But this was not always a bad lonliness. It is the lonliness of a person who conflicts with the world, who chooses to not change, who chooses to remain lonely. I am able to relate to Bukowski more often than I like to admit, though I guess I am not alone in this fact, considering his success. As usual, I ended with a book full of bits of paper sticking out, poems to not forget, poems more than worth mentioning. When, at the end of how is your heart, Bukowski wrote "what matters most is how well you walk through the fire", I felt it, more than when I have heard similar and more eloquent statements of the same. When I read 3 a.m. games, I really wanted a cigarette. I enjoyed the longer story type poems, such as a tragic meeting, I meet the famous poet, and whorehouse, all of which I found rather funny for different reasons. putrefaction is another I simply want to mention because it has stuck with me. invasion was my favorite. This is a first, as I have never been able to narrow the field so much, let alone to one. I would include the poem here but sadly it is too long and I think it is best left as a wonderful surprise for those who end up reading this collection.

  8. 5 out of 5

    Fenia

    Bukowski is a genious. enough said. *.* ♥

  9. 4 out of 5

    رحمان

    After reading this book I was inspired to write this poem: the agony of this existence as if it weren't enough of a struggle just to wake up in the morning and face the sun not for them though no they need to make it harder a torment hell (they're obsessed with hell) hell for others while they they they live in privilege they control they enslave they fuck and they do it in the name of righteousness they hide behind their prophet they hide behind their god and they force a papyrus to guide them and us us and them they make it After reading this book I was inspired to write this poem: the agony of this existence as if it weren't enough of a struggle just to wake up in the morning and face the sun not for them though no they need to make it harder a torment hell (they're obsessed with hell) hell for others while they they they live in privilege they control they enslave they fuck and they do it in the name of righteousness they hide behind their prophet they hide behind their god and they force a papyrus to guide them and us us and them they make it tell them how to live behave act treat others treat women how to be abusive how to be ignorant and they those assholes those cowards those elitists they rule us

  10. 4 out of 5

    Melody Manful

    Charles Bukowski is crazy, fortunately, I love crazy people. Hahaha examines Cats. Personally, after reading this book, I find this man to be absolutely nuts. I could picture myself becoming friends with him, easily, because let’s face it, I am as crazy as they come. Stranger: Can you describe your friend Melody to me? My Friends: Melody? That biatch is crazy with a capital K. Me: Yes. Yes I am. I will now review this piece how Bukowski would: I wonder between the two of us Bukowski and I who is the crazi Charles Bukowski is crazy, fortunately, I love crazy people. Hahaha examines Cats. Personally, after reading this book, I find this man to be absolutely nuts. I could picture myself becoming friends with him, easily, because let’s face it, I am as crazy as they come. Stranger: Can you describe your friend Melody to me? My Friends: Melody? That biatch is crazy with a capital K. Me: Yes. Yes I am. I will now review this piece how Bukowski would: I wonder between the two of us Bukowski and I who is the craziest him for this book or me for calling it a masterpiece. Either way there's something wrong with us and so is this line. See where I’m going with this? The difference between Bukowski and I though, is that, while he is a mad genius, I am... read more here

  11. 5 out of 5

    Sohaib

    Imagine an old man (+45) with his four cats, living in a shabby one-room apartment with occasional girlfriends who come and go—that man is Charles Bukowski, otherwise known as the poet of the lowlifes. Most poems are about drinking, getting wasted, writing, loneliness, failure, street fights, occasional hookups and poor living. Few poems get into the poet's childhood, especially his strained relationship with his father. The style reflects such motifs. It's conversational and sometimes even vulg Imagine an old man (+45) with his four cats, living in a shabby one-room apartment with occasional girlfriends who come and go—that man is Charles Bukowski, otherwise known as the poet of the lowlifes. Most poems are about drinking, getting wasted, writing, loneliness, failure, street fights, occasional hookups and poor living. Few poems get into the poet's childhood, especially his strained relationship with his father. The style reflects such motifs. It's conversational and sometimes even vulgar—a smack in the face of anyone who thinks that poetry must be literary and refined. It's an upshot from modernism it seems to me. I like Charles. He's a wild man. Recommended.

  12. 5 out of 5

    Jim

    Bukowski, you miserable bastard, I found you on a shelf in a thrift shop. You would have found that appropriate, if it weren't for the fact that you were nestled beside a volume of Hemingway, whom you professed to scorn but I think you really envied his easy success, the profits that eluded you for so many years. Hemingway stayed on the shelf, but you came home with me so I could have a look to see what makes you tick. At the time you penned most of the poems in this book you were about my age, a Bukowski, you miserable bastard, I found you on a shelf in a thrift shop. You would have found that appropriate, if it weren't for the fact that you were nestled beside a volume of Hemingway, whom you professed to scorn but I think you really envied his easy success, the profits that eluded you for so many years. Hemingway stayed on the shelf, but you came home with me so I could have a look to see what makes you tick. At the time you penned most of the poems in this book you were about my age, and we are so alike in temperament that I found myself disliking you. Don't take it personally, but there can only be one misanthrope at a time in the room. I pay the mortgage, so you have to go. Leave the book. Your poems at this stage lack the fire of youth, I'm seeing resignation and acceptance here. Some passages seem to convey a sense of dread: "as long as there are human beings about there is never going to be any peace for any individual upon this earth( or anywhere else they might escape to). all you can do is maybe grab ten lucky minutes here or maybe an hour there. something is working toward you right now, and I mean you and nobody but you. (P196) I gotta admit, Charlie, that one gave me a little chill. But most of all, and very puzzling to me, is that your work seems to express a distaste for your fellow man paradoxically matched with a sense of loneliness. A case in point from Page 235: escape the best part was pulling down the shades stuffing the doorbell with rags putting the phone in the refrigerator and going to bed for 3 or 4 days. and the next best part was nobody ever missed me. I gotta say, Charles, that I usually don't finish a book of poetry so quickly. And I seldom like so much of what I've read. Your book will never see another thrift store while I'm alive.

  13. 4 out of 5

    Melanie

    The question I put to every poem - do I believe your truth, do I enjoy your lies? If both answers are a 'no' I'll consider them a stone cold sober waste of time. But let's move on to 'alkies'. I always had a sneaking suspicion that despite the obvious and secret trials and tribulations of being an alcoholic, (high functioning or otherwise) alcoholics are out there having so much more fun than I and additionally gaining great material and inspiration for that book, poem, song, film project. That The question I put to every poem - do I believe your truth, do I enjoy your lies? If both answers are a 'no' I'll consider them a stone cold sober waste of time. But let's move on to 'alkies'. I always had a sneaking suspicion that despite the obvious and secret trials and tribulations of being an alcoholic, (high functioning or otherwise) alcoholics are out there having so much more fun than I and additionally gaining great material and inspiration for that book, poem, song, film project. That's one of a myriad of excuses as to why I'm not being more creative - I'm simply not drunk enough. For any goodreaders and alcoholics who elect to be offended, note my joking tone. According to some of the poems here 'alkies' are akin to sullen teenagers dropping 'whatever' bombs before that slam of the door. There's a lot of too-cool-for-school shoulder shrugging, grunting, angst, road rage altercations and 'so it goes' kind of stuff that bores me a little - almond slivers of bravado going down sour. A few poems snapped me out of the inertia: '1813-1883', 'beasts bounding...' 'hot', '...crippled saints' 'how is your heart?' 'it's ours'. Back to truth and lies, the poetry is believable and real, but I wasn't inspired or entertained.

  14. 5 out of 5

    Dana Al-Basha دانة الباشا

    “Some people never go crazy What truly horrible lives they must lead Boring damned people All over the earth propagating more boring damned people What a horror show The earth swarmed with them” “Some lose all mind and become soul, insane. some lose all soul and become mind, intellectual. some lose both and become accepted” I added this book to my reading list because of the Beautiful Creatures "Lena & Ethan reading list".

  15. 5 out of 5

    Edward Goetz

    I love the fact that Bukowski, even after winning fame, stayed so true to himself, and remained living where he always did: in the underbelly of society, a place few of us really know. It makes everything he writes so much more real; a perspective so many of us don't ever experience. But for all that, his poetry still applies to so many of us, no matter where we live, or how much money we make. His wry observations on the modern world always ring true, making sure we always remember we all put ou I love the fact that Bukowski, even after winning fame, stayed so true to himself, and remained living where he always did: in the underbelly of society, a place few of us really know. It makes everything he writes so much more real; a perspective so many of us don't ever experience. But for all that, his poetry still applies to so many of us, no matter where we live, or how much money we make. His wry observations on the modern world always ring true, making sure we always remember we all put our pants on one leg at a time.

  16. 5 out of 5

    M.L.

    Lots of people think that Bukowski's later work is less immediate and raw and powerful - after he found some commercial success (mainly in Europe) - than his earlier work. They ask "why don't you keep writing about drinking and fighting in alleys and sleeping with prostitutes?". To them, it felt more "real". But I like the later stuff. It moves with more confidence and less self-awareness. I always got the sense that too many of his earlier experiences were experienced with exactly the self-satis Lots of people think that Bukowski's later work is less immediate and raw and powerful - after he found some commercial success (mainly in Europe) - than his earlier work. They ask "why don't you keep writing about drinking and fighting in alleys and sleeping with prostitutes?". To them, it felt more "real". But I like the later stuff. It moves with more confidence and less self-awareness. I always got the sense that too many of his earlier experiences were experienced with exactly the self-satisfied knowledge that "at least it will make for a good poem". The later stuff feels more immediate, to me, simply because it is less reflexively self-aware. Instead, I find the later poems more intentional, more reflexive, and less formulaic. Though understanding it well requires a reading of the earlier, meaner work - this is my favorite of the Bukowski poetry collections I've read so far.

  17. 4 out of 5

    Kerstin

    This is one of my favorite collections of poetry. Charles Bukowski led a pretty rough life (he was an unapologetic, womanizing, violent drunk) which is reflected in his work. Some of his pieces are coarse, lewd, and downright graphic. But amongst all of the chaos and drunkeness he will write something beautiful and poignant, which seems even more so in contrast to then violent and lacivious poems around it. And that's kind of what poetry is, isn't it? Finding something beautiful in the everyday. This is one of my favorite collections of poetry. Charles Bukowski led a pretty rough life (he was an unapologetic, womanizing, violent drunk) which is reflected in his work. Some of his pieces are coarse, lewd, and downright graphic. But amongst all of the chaos and drunkeness he will write something beautiful and poignant, which seems even more so in contrast to then violent and lacivious poems around it. And that's kind of what poetry is, isn't it? Finding something beautiful in the everyday. For whatever reason, this does it for me.

  18. 5 out of 5

    Taylor Quinn

    “there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.”

  19. 5 out of 5

    Katie

    While I wasn't a fan of everything in this book, poems like "no help for that" and "it's ours" redeem it 100%

  20. 4 out of 5

    Andy Carrington

    The book that re-defined poetry for me. Buk was tough / a real inspiration.

  21. 4 out of 5

    Anna

    "take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have left is the sickness which started him typing in the beginning" my "problem" with poem books is, that I nearly never like every poem. Some Bukowski poems were amazing, some were good, some were disgusting, some were bad, some didn't make any sense, some were heartbreaking and some just touched my hearts. All in all I enjoyed this book and would give it a 3.5

  22. 5 out of 5

    Gorfo

    I would never want Bukowski for a friend. He's the friend that gets slobbering drunk at the party. The friend who rails and rails for hours about some nonsense that nobody wants to listen to. He's the one who ruins the carpet that's been in the family for generations- the one that your great-great grandmother wove with her bare hands- and he doesn't apologize for it. He's never the friend you look to for advice, or the friend that you would ever share a drink with when you were in a happy mood, b I would never want Bukowski for a friend. He's the friend that gets slobbering drunk at the party. The friend who rails and rails for hours about some nonsense that nobody wants to listen to. He's the one who ruins the carpet that's been in the family for generations- the one that your great-great grandmother wove with her bare hands- and he doesn't apologize for it. He's never the friend you look to for advice, or the friend that you would ever share a drink with when you were in a happy mood, but he's the friend that you go to when you want to let yourself wallow a little, when you're not against feeling a little bit of self-pity, when an emotional catharsis is the only thing that can save you. Bukowski is truly vulgar and cynical. I loved this book. Whatever it was, it was real. "these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory" he was indeed a beast pounding through time. and for a moment his poetry illuminated that space in the heart that can never be filled.

  23. 5 out of 5

    Meseceva

    “there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.”

  24. 5 out of 5

    Laura

    Some of this was very good (and some excellent, even), but I mostly hated it. Now at least I know to give extreme side-eye to dudes who say Bukowski is their favorite poet/writer.

  25. 4 out of 5

    Danielle

    I loved Bukowski in high school, haven't picked him up since then, but the purposeful coarseness, the rough exterior hiding vulnerable loneliness, the delight in being offensive...no developing teenage girl should grow up without him. His poetry is so much better than his prose, this collection is my favorite.

  26. 5 out of 5

    Igrowastreesgrow

    I either felt like telling him off or I really liked the poem. He seemed to have a lot of feelings in this collection. The feeling, to me, was that he was just letting everything out. He also seemed to have no problem with people leaving how he thought.

  27. 4 out of 5

    andy

    no help for that there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space. - Charles Bukowski

  28. 4 out of 5

    رؤيا شعبان

    This is absolutely my favorite of all Bukowski's books (so far ) . probable one of best book i read this year . the thing is i was just in mood , lonely , very lonely , the loneliest girl in the whole city ... then i wanted something to read . .and this is how this book Caught my attention . . " You get so alone at times that it just make sense " . one of my friends told me once that i care too much about authors more than their works , and that's true . the first reason why am reading for Bukowski This is absolutely my favorite of all Bukowski's books (so far ) . probable one of best book i read this year . the thing is i was just in mood , lonely , very lonely , the loneliest girl in the whole city ... then i wanted something to read . .and this is how this book Caught my attention . . " You get so alone at times that it just make sense " . one of my friends told me once that i care too much about authors more than their works , and that's true . the first reason why am reading for Bukowski , it's that i want a new experience , i love his honest soul that what amazed me the most , how real he is , perhaps the honestest man , there no more real people left on our plant . his words gave me a new human experience , most of people will say they read to enjoy , or to learn something new , but for me all I want is to be , the people am reading for . i want to be Sylvia plath , i want to be Jack kerouac . i want to be Henry Chinaski , i want his feeling , his words to understand what it mean to be him ... and this book is one of my ultimate human experience . I can tell i have learn a lot as much as i enjoyed this reading . and next time when am alone looking at the city down form my balcony .. i will be able to feel his soul looking down with me . my friend within the darkness . and here some of the line that i really need to keep for myself : "the impossibility of being human " > " when i drive the freeways i see the soul of Humanity of my city and it's ugly ugly ,ugly : the living have choked the heart away " > " who was also all too human " > " darkness falls upon humanity and faces become terrible things that wanted more than there was . " > " sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone are the dead rattling the walls that close us in " > " each man's hell is in a different place : mine is just up and behind my ruined face " p s . i feel like i still want to talk about this book , each poem in this collection , probley will be write about it on my blog .

  29. 4 out of 5

    Karl Prinz

    I'll compare reading an entire collection of Bukowski poems to listening to a whole Sex Pistols album. You love the first song and the second. By the third and fourth, the feeling wanes as thematic and musical monotony sets in, and with each proceeding poem or song, your enthusiasm continues to decrease. You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense stays in Bukowski's wheelhouse of drinking everything in sight, screwing everyone in sight, gambling at the horse track, and realizing, from ti I'll compare reading an entire collection of Bukowski poems to listening to a whole Sex Pistols album. You love the first song and the second. By the third and fourth, the feeling wanes as thematic and musical monotony sets in, and with each proceeding poem or song, your enthusiasm continues to decrease. You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense stays in Bukowski's wheelhouse of drinking everything in sight, screwing everyone in sight, gambling at the horse track, and realizing, from time to time, how alone it all makes him feel. Don't get me wrong. There are more than a handful of absolute gems in this collection that accomplished what writing should: made me laugh out loud; nearly moved me tears; made me see something in a way I've never thought of, but many poems, when read in procession, paint a clear picture of someone trying to fill an emotional void with things that bring only a momentary release. Favorites: The Finest of the Breed The Lady In The Castle About the PEN Conference

  30. 4 out of 5

    Matthew

    Bukowski reminds me of this character from Naked Lunch who refused to edit anything that he ever wrote because the spontaneity of raw poetry, even--or especially--when it was crap made it the essence of true art. This is an unfair comparison, but it has some merit. The majority of the poems in here should have been left on the cutting room floor. They have an easy, conversational style that creates a sense of intimacy between the author and the reader, but as often as not they're just little non Bukowski reminds me of this character from Naked Lunch who refused to edit anything that he ever wrote because the spontaneity of raw poetry, even--or especially--when it was crap made it the essence of true art. This is an unfair comparison, but it has some merit. The majority of the poems in here should have been left on the cutting room floor. They have an easy, conversational style that creates a sense of intimacy between the author and the reader, but as often as not they're just little non-sequiturs tinged with self-indulgence. Still, you can't dismiss him because there is real brilliance, in the occasional poem or even a few lines here and there. Some of it really speaks to me. It's just wildly uneven and undisciplined, often just boring, making it an unsatisfying read.

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