Beer with the Boys

Charles Bukowski poems have straight forward language, each poem a short story of what is, or could be, a real event. Here’s my go at writing a Bukowski styled poem about beer. Bukowski loved beer.

Hyderabad, India, 2008, my photo

Alongside the roadside
on the street's 
dirt shoulder
is a bar, a drinks shop
for transient workers
who may support a family
live in a tent
live in a shanty
living in this historically caste oriented country
where they’re at the bottom
of the totem pole.
No
they're lower
they're the dirt
the totem pole stands on.

“Stop,” I called to the driver.

“I’m going to get a drink. You want one?”
I ask my middle class colleague
who has an expression of concern
bordering on fear.
He’s not getting out of the taxis.
But he does.

It's just men walking home after work
Sure
they're low on the economic scale
and they don't look like me
but I'm like them,
I had darkened skin working in the sun
in the farm fields in the dirt
where my father was born in a farmhouse
down a Canadian country dirt road.
Me and my friends
all worked farm labor jobs.

Standing on the roadside
I say, “I got this”
and wonder if they speak English.
I cautiously step up
to the iron wire store front window
point and say, “Two beers, please.”

“Yes,” he answers
getting 2 bottles out of an ice cube box
and pours them into plastic cups
his English is fine.

I'm having a drink with my kinda people
like having a cold one
after a hot summer day
with my farm field crew.

“Quite the pile of cups on the ground,”I say, 
but
my California molded mind is thinking,
litter.

My colleague says,
“Someone will pick them up and sell them.”

I tip my cup
to get the last drop
and throw into the pile
not littering
feeling good helping
someone of the earth
who supports the totem pole of commerce.

Charles Bukowski On Writing

Bukowski’s book, The Captain is Out To Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship, is pages from his daily logs. He’s writing about his writer life with his tips on writing are within the prose. It’s an enjoyable book to read if you are interested in the man and his approach to writing.

Charles Bukowski on his writing life,

• He loves to write while listening to classical music playing on the radio. “Great classical music,” he wrote and mentions Mozart.
• Listens to the radio instead of media such as records or CDs because he’s elated by something new.
• He’s a regular at the racetrack. First line of the book, “Good day at the track, damn near swept the card.” An important reason for going is that it fills his need to get out among people rather than always at home.
• He doesn’t like socializing at parties. Prefers not to have conversations with people at the racetrack. That sounds like someone that doesn’t want to associate with their co-workers.
• His phone number was listed and people would call him up and ask, “Are you Charles Bukowski the writer?” Which he would answer, “Yes.” In a poem from Love is a Dog from Hell, he likes when women call him. Sometimes they would follow up with a visit. Calls from women was one of his reasons for having his phone listed.
• He was recognizable and famous enough that people would approach him, but he preferred they didn’t. Except good looking women. He was a man with exceptions, an exceptional man.
• He disliked most every writer and poet alive. Hemingway is mentioned a number of times, in a reasonable light. I remember reading that he liked Walt Whitman, but not sure where I read that. Whitman was free style writer as well.
• “I like to look at my cats, they chill me out,” he wrote.

Charles Bukowski on writing,

• Don’t get trapped in other people’s wants. Bukowski didn’t want to be part of TV series based on his life. He finally told the producer, no. Such traps can rob your writing time.
• Write. He loved writing. He would rather spend hours writing than watching TV. Though, there were times he watched TV.
• He had a set time for writing: in the evening. He wrote for hours at a time.
• At times, alcohol was involved. But not always. Too much alcohol would end an evening of writing.
• Mornings were not for writing. Daytime for the racetrack. Racetrack was like a job where he got out among people, but not much interaction.
• He writes on a computer. He said it was faster than writing on a type writer.
• Keep writing. “Why did I have to reach the age of 51 before I could pay the rent with my writing?” he wrote.

His writing has inspired me to try his style of writing, please see the next blog, coming soon.

Negative Criticism is Good

Stephen King said you can learn a lot from bad writing. John Keats was a great writer, but he wasn’t perfect. I say that because he said it, “Had I been nervous about its[Endymion] being a perfect piece, … it would not have been written.” Endymion was criticized for having an idea end on the first line of a pair of rhyming lines, and then a second idea start on the second line of a rhyming pair.

Following is an example where an Endymion sentence ends on the first rhyming line(“breathing”), and a new sentence is started on the second rhyming line(“wreathing”).

... a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
...

The above happens too often in Endymion, and much less (rarely) in Keats’s later poem, Lamia. Following are 2 good example Lamia rhyming pair lines that are continuous within the punctuation: “;” and “.”.

For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.

Keats was cool about criticism. He listened, he learned, he improved.

The following may not be perfect, however it is a perfectly wonderful poetic piece from Endymion.

...
Not of these days, but long ago ’twas told
By a cavern wind unto a forest old;
And then the forest told it in a dream
To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam
A poet caught as he was journeying
To Phoebus’ shrine; and in it he did fling
His weary limbs, bathing an hour’s space,
And after, straight in that inspired place
He sang the story up into the air,
Giving it universal freedom. There
...

Poet “ing” Words

This is an exploration of the types of “ing” words, using them and when to avoid using them. For example, “go dancing,” sounds correct. The alternative, “go to dance,” sounds awkward.

“Ing” words are popularly used as verbs: dancing, eating, and napping. “Ing” words are also used as adjectives. For example, “each separate dying ember.” The “ing” word describes the ember. Edgar Allan Poe uses “ing” verb words and adjective “ing” words in his poem, The Raven. A few examples,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
... And each separate dying ember ...
... And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me ...

Yes, Poe uses thrilling “ing” words.

“Ing” words act like nouns, gerunds, “I enjoy dancing.” Gerund, an “ing” verb acting as a noun. Subject verb noun (SVN), “I enjoy dancing.” Again, the alternative, “I enjoy to dance,” sounds awkward.

As present participles, like an adjective, “a dancing fool.” Or, not so good written, “They were dancing.” Better to write, “They danced.”

In the article, Different Types of “ing” Words — and Which Ones to Avoid, it’s recommend to avoid “ing” words with “to be” verbs: am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been. Avoid, “The fool was dancing.” Use, “The fool danced their troubles away.”

Edward Robson, PhD, MFA, was quoted saying, “ing” words “are seldom passive voice, which usually ends in -ed, as in ‘the bicycle was pedaled.’” Active, “pedaling the bicycle.” “Ing” and “ed” words have unique usage. “I was boring,” verses, “I was bored.” In the first, I was the boring one. In the second, the other was boring me. Robson goes on to say, “Though some “ing” words can sound a bit passive, they still have their place. My best advice then, is to determine which “ing” words successfully do the heavy lifting in each piece you write and replace the rest when possible.”

In the following line, I used an “ing” word with a “to be” verb.

Old Town Madrid is receding behind me,

I replaced it with the more concise line,

Old Town Madrid recedes behind me,

I believe Poe knew when to use “ing” words. And, I’m happy with Keats “ing” words in his poem, Ode to a Nightingale:

... Tasting of Flora and the country green,
... winding mossy ways.
... Fast fading violets
... The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 
... Darkling I listen ...
... While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
... this passing night was heard ... opening on the foam ... deceiving elf.
... Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

In my poems I shall carefully use “ing” words, using them to do heavy lifting with rhythm.

Seaside meadows shine as one,
Glowing bright, soaking up the sun,
A river of color, a rainbow to share,
A budding gift of Nature's care.

Rhythm for Each and Every Line

To get a line poetic, may take rounds of trials to perfect the sounds.

I started with,

Shadows aloft, spirits traversing the waves,

The following line is a draft adaption to fit other lines. As I naturally use direct wording, this is what I came up with:

Dancing shadows are traversing the waves,

However, the rhythm didn’t fit the other lines. The other lines have a nature pause in the middle. The word are, causes a different rhythm which breaks the lyrical sound of the 4 lines.

Close to the void, my vision gets lighter,
The clasp around my ankle gets tighter;
Dancing shadows are traversing the waves,
Unsentinel beings perform taunting raves: ...

Following, I highlight the pause. The last line could either have, or not have, the pause. It would be determined by its previous line.

Close to the void--my vision gets lighter,
The clasp around--my ankle gets tighter;
Dancing shadows are traversing the waves,
Unsentinel beings perform taunting raves: ...

And so, I made the following changes to the line. Now all 4 lines can be read with the same rhythm, all with a pause. Also, to match the words in the last line, I changed shadows to spirits to better match: unsentinel beings.

Close to the void, my vision gets lighter,
The clasp around my ankle gets tighter;
Dancing spirits aloft, traverse the waves,
Unsentinel beings perform taunting raves: ...

The main skill that the comedian, poet Stephen Fry taught me, from reading his book The Ode Less Travelled, was to recognize word rhythm. How to hear rhythm in poems and speak with rhythm. From Stephen’s lessons, I made the above changes which I’m happy with.

The Best of the Best Words

There’s a poetic exercise to write a poem inspired by a piece of art. I chose Joseph Severn’s painting of John Keats listening to a nightingale on Hampstead Heath, north London, England.

There’s also a poetic exercise to modify a published poem or start with favorite lines. Another poet had mentioned writing a paper on Ode to a Grecian Urn, by John Keats. From the ode, I selected a choice of its best lines, phrases, and words to fit the painting.

Thou still ... of quietness,
    Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
    ... the spirit ...
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
    For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
 Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
    For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
    For ever panting, and for ever young;
When old age shall this generation waste,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty ..."

With re-reading and re-writing, over and over, I wrote the following, a poem in progress.

Song of the Nightingale Painting

Stilled in quietness, a poet's inspirational moment in time,
A poetically divine visual tale, a tale Keats put to rhyme;
An Ode to the Nightingale singing its melody for us to hear,
Forest spirits playing nature's symphony into the poet's ear.
A fair youth in meditation beneath whispering trees,
He hears the still wind, through still painted leaves,
Happy trees in summer's warmth with leaves that cannot shed,
Our seasons change to winter's grey, you stay green instead.
I flow into the silent scene, teasing eternity out of thought,
We mortals observe for a time, immortal time for us bought;
The poet enjoys youth, forever young with lustrous eyes,
For us after time, youth grows pale, specter-thin, and dies;
For future generations you are a thing of beauty, a joy forever,
Here—"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," they are as one together.

For reference, following is the first draft, the starting point.

Stilled in quietness, a poet within a moment of slow time,
A visual tale that's sweetly divine, a tale he put to rhyme.
The nightingale's silent melody, heard sweetly in the poet's ear,
Forest spirits playing nature's symphony, how to us they do endear,
Fair youth caught in composition beneath the listening trees,
You are immortal, always there, never from earth to leave,
Silent form, dost tease eternity out of thought,
When in old age, no further time, can be bought,
Happy trees always in summer's warmth with leaves that cannot shed
We move on through seasons: autumn and winter's cold, instead.
The poet forever sharp and forever young in youth to be enjoyed,
But, we live in times that are good and not, this we cannot avoid,
And you shall remain a thing of beauty, for us a joy forever,
Where "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," they are as one together.

Getting a poem to a completed stage is a process. The more I like the poem, the more reading and writing it gets until every word is my best word, in the best location.

Poems are a Joy Forever

We’ve all read poems that contain lines and phrases that we truly love to read over and over. There is a poem writing exercise where you start with someone’s poem and modify it, and re-write parts. Take your favorite lines of a poem and adapt–T.S. Elliot calls it, steal–those lines into a new poem. As an exercise, I copied favorite phrases and lines from Keats poem, I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill.

I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill,	
The air was cooling, and so very still,
... I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started;
...
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
... The blue sky here...
... on luxurious wings ...
... in that moment spoken,	
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature’s light?
...
He was a Poet, sure a lover too,
...
Young men, and maidens at each other gaz’d
With hands held back, and motionless, amaz’d

I re-read and re-read, I wrote and re-wrote, until every word of the new poem was a joy to read. This is only possible with lines of beauty. As Keats wrote, A Thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Keats words in the new poem are, a joy forever to read.

“Good poets make what they steal, into something better, or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of a feeling which is unique, utterly different than that from which it is torn; the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion,” wrote T.S. Elliot.

In T.S. Elliot’s spirit of theft, from Keats lines, I offer the following for you to decide, good poet or bad poet?

He was a Poet, Sure a Lover too

She stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still.
Upon her face he stared and gazed,
Hands held back, motionless, and amazed.
Into his mind, pleasurable visions started, 
With her beside him, he was light-hearted;
His heart soared high in pleasant wanderings, 
Flying through blue skies on poetic wings.
With words of poetry, in each moment spoken, 
They wove silken ties, that were never broken. 
To her, he praised above all other glories,
Her smile moved him to tell wonderful stories; 
For what has made the sage or poet to write? 
But the fair paradise of their love's delight.

The poet must read their lines over and over, and hopefully have an audience reading them over and over. Think of the Rolling Stones song poem, Paint It, Black.

I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colors anymore
I want them to turn black

I’m sure the Stones still enjoy playing Paint It, Black, in concert and that their audience love to hear it over and over. In the following linked video, the guitarist Kieth Richards smiles as he plays the opening riffs. The crowd is cheering, jumping, and singing along, driving the band on and on, “I see a red door and I want it painted black …”

Rhyming Pairs and Other

Byron’s poem, She walks in beauty, has a rhyming scheme of every other line (ABABAB). Here is the first stanzas:

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
   Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
   Thus mellowed to that tender light
   Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

In my adaption, I have the rhyming lines follow each other (AAABBB). This makes the rhyme and rhythm more enjoyable to my ears.

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless skies all starry bright, 
And all that’s best of dark and light 
   Meet in the aspects of her eyes;
   Thus mellowed by the tender skies 
   Which heaven too sunny, day denies.

Since I was making changes, I changed gaudy to sunny, a preferred sounding word. I went on to modify lines. In the following, I kept only the rhyming word, grace.

Byron:
   Had half impaired the nameless grace
Adaption:
   Her sassy serene stylish grace,

Thanks to Lord Byron for his original, She walks in beauty, which is genius. My poem is but a humble adaption.

For Valentine’s Day

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless skies all starry bright, 
And all that’s best of dark and light 
   Meet in the aspects of her eyes;
   Thus mellowed by the tender skies 
   Which heaven too sunny, day denies

On her cheek, over and below,
So soft, so calm, tints that glow,
Smile that wins, it does show,
   Brilliant highlights of her face,
   Her sassy serene stylish grace,
   How dear she is in Beauty's place.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Which waves in every raven tress;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
   A mind at peace that's eloquent,
   It tells of days in goodness spent,
   A heart whose love is innocent.

Poem Enjambment

In a poetry Meetup group we talked about the poem, New Year’s Day, by Kim Addonizio. Here’s the opening sentences.

The rain this morning falls   
on the last of the snow

and will wash it away. I can smell   
the grass again, and the torn leaves

being eased down into the mud.

The poem is a 2 line stanza free verse type poem utilizing enjambment. Stephen Fry, comedian and poet, in his book, The Ode Less Travelled, wrote poems in the format he was introducing. In the spirit of Stephen Fry, I’ve written a poem about enjambment, using enjambments.

Ode to Enjambmenting

Enjambments break sentences
up into components of phrases

and clauses, that causes the reader
to hesitate with pauses. More time

to think, creating wonder of what
in this world wide web is next? Reading

enjambments is like jammin'
in a jazz band that's flowin',

it's rockin' and rollin' to the beat
of the heart of the poet. Yeah, I feel it, 

"Follow your inner moonlight, don’t hide
the madness,” wrote Allen Ginsberg.

The 2 line free verse enjambment poem style has a rhythm that works for certain effects. For me, it may work in a stream of consciousness narration poem. Stream of consciousness being the multitude of thoughts and feelings which pass through the mind (Wikipedia). New Year’s Day has that feature. While the person is walking along in the rain their mind drifts off to think of the past and wondering how things turned out. In closing, they think about the rain and lift their face up to it.

If you’ve never looked up into the rain, give it a go. As John Denver sang, it’ll fill up your senses … Like a walk in the rain.

Live Like You’re in the Movies

The title is from my poem of the same name. During a Meetup.com poetry meeting, participants liked that I had included movie references. One said, “It made me feel more connected.” Here are a few lines from the poem,

To Japan, home of Pokemon's Pikachu and Charizard;
Studio Ghibli's Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service, Spirited Away;
...
South to Kuala Lumpur, onto the Petronas Twin Towers bridge
As did Sean Connery and Cathrine Zeta-Jones in a movie.

Anthony Bourdain wrote, “I wanted to see the world — and I wanted the world to be just like the movies.” Bourdain was my travel hero,

He traveled to countries where there were people to see, 
He broadened our perspective as he continually,
Tasted fountains of local drinks as he would pass, 
Through markets with noodles spiced with lemongrass.

I ate in street food locations similar to scenes in his shows. How he loved noodles. From watching him enjoy a bowl of Vietnamese phở, I began writing my poem, Life with Spice, that begins,

Memories of travel go through my delirious mind, 
Remembering where it is that noodles one can find: 
Noisy shops in Hong Kong, hawker stalls in Singapore, 
On streets of Bangkok, markets of Kuala Lumpur, 
Chinatown in San Francisco, Toronto, and London, 
Side alleys of Taipei, Tokyo houses of ramen.

After watching Anthony eat in unusual places and loving it, I gained confidence and followed suit, grew bolder. Live like your in the movies, eat like your in an Anthony Bourdain show.

Above, a three dollar meal at a Bangkok market. It was so good 🙂

Below, gotta love a hand made thatch roof restaurant.