A fifth and final collection of poetic works by the influential late author of Factotum and Ham on Rye features hard-hitting pieces that reflect his observations about everyday objects and offer insight into his use of unpolished language

Zusatztext " The People Look Like Flowers At Last is the final posthumous Bukowski collection. . . and it is extraordinary. Informationen zum Autor Charles Bukowski is one of America's best-known contemporary writers of poetry and prose and, many would claim, its most influential and imitated poet. He was born in 1920 in Andernach, Germany, to an American soldier father and a German mother, and brought to the United States at the age of two. He was raised in Los Angeles and lived there for over fifty years. He died in San Pedro, California, on March 9, 1994, at the age of seventy-three, shortly after completing his last novel, Pulp . Abel Debritto , a former Fulbright scholar and current Marie Curie fellow, works in the digital humanities. He is the author of Charles Bukowski, King of the Underground , and the editor of the Bukowski collections On Writing , On Cats , and On Love . Klappentext 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 job as a waitress; and the chimney sweep was quite delicate as he giggled up through the soot. I walked miles through the city and recognized nothing 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 meaning nothing, 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" Zusammenfassung if you read this after I am dead It means I made it -The Creation Coffin The People Look like Flowers at Last is the last of five collections of never-before published poetry from the late great Dirty Old Man, Charles Bukowski. In it, he speaks on topics ranging from horse racing to military elephants, lost love to the fear of death. He writes extensively about writing, and about talking to people about writers such as Camus, Hemingway, and Stein. He writes about war and fatherhood and cats and women. Free from the pressure to present a consistent persona, these poems present less of an aggressively disruptive character, and more a world-weary and empathetic person. This final volume from the master of dirty realism delivers: Dirty Realism: Find poetry in the grit of the everydayfrom horse racing and hangovers to the unflinching realities of love, loss, and survival. Life and Death: Confront the fear of death, the weight of fatherhood, and the strange beauty of a world that keeps turning, with or without you. The Writer's Life: Step into the mind of a literary outlaw as he spars with the ghosts of Hemingway and Camus and lays bare the raw, bloody act of creation. Unpublished Works: Experience the unvarnished last words of an American icon in a volume of never-before-seen poems, stripping away the persona to reveal the weary heart beneath. ...

"The People Look Like Flowers At Last is the final posthumous Bukowski collection. . . and it is extraordinary.”

Autorentext

Charles Bukowski is one of America’s best-known contemporary writers of poetry and prose and, many would claim, its most influential and imitated poet. He was born in 1920 in Andernach, Germany, to an American soldier father and a German mother, and brought to the United States at the age of two. He was raised in Los Angeles and lived there for over fifty years. He died in San Pedro, California, on March 9, 1994, at the age of seventy-three, shortly after completing his last novel, Pulp.

Abel Debritto, a former Fulbright scholar and current Marie Curie fellow, works in the digital humanities. He is the author of Charles Bukowski, King of the Underground, and the editor of the Bukowski collections On Writing, On Cats, and On Love.

Klappentext

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 job
as a waitress; and
the chimney sweep was quite delicate as he
giggled up through the
soot.
I walked miles through the city and recognized
nothing 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 meaning
nothing,
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"

Zusammenfassung

“if you read this after I am dead

It means I made it”

-“The Creation Coffin”

The People Look like Flowers at Last is the last of five collections of never-before published poetry from the late great Dirty Old Man, Charles Bukowski.

In it, he speaks on topics ranging from horse racing to military elephants, lost love to the fear of death.  He writes extensively about writing, and about talking to people about writers such as Camus, Hemingway, and Stein.  He writes about war and fatherhood and cats and women.

Free from the pressure to present a consistent persona, these poems present less of an aggressively disruptive character, and more a world-weary and empathetic person.

This final volume from the master of dirty realism delivers:

• Dirty Realism: Find poetry in the grit of the everyday—from horse racing and hangovers to the unflinching realities of love, loss, and survival.
• Life and Death: Confront the fear of death, the weight of fatherhood, and the strange beauty of a world that keeps turning, with or without you.
• The Writer’s Life: Step into the mind of a literary outlaw as he spars with the ghosts of Hemingway and Camus and lays bare the raw, bloody act of creation.
• Unpublished Works: Experience the unvarnished last words of an American icon in a volume of never-before-seen poems, stripping away the persona to reveal the weary heart beneath.