I bought this 2CD set at a 9th street bookstore in Manhattan's east village many years ago when BUKOWSKI recordings were hard to find. I had read all his books but never heard his voice. It felt like I struck gold! It was recorded at his home shortly before his death. Disc 1 is shorter poems and Disc 2 is longer stuff including him reading from the 1st few pages of his novel HAM ON RYE. BUKOWSKI was one of a short list of artists who changed my life in a profound way. RIP. BUK.
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the rains of the depression era. there wasn't any money but there was plenty of rain. it wouldn't rain for just a night or a day, it would RAIN for 7 days and 7 nights and in Los Angeles the storm drains weren't built to carry off taht much water and the rain came down THICK and MEAN and STEADY and you HEARD it banging against the roofs and into the ground waterfalls of it came down from roofs and there was HAIL big ROCKS OF ICE bombing exploding smashing into things and the rain just wouldn't STOP and all the roofs leaked- dishpans, cooking pots were placed all about; they dripped loudly and had to be emptied again and again. the rain came up over the street curbings, across the lawns, climbed up the steps and entered the houses. there were mops and bathroom towels, and the rain often came up through the toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling, and all the old cars stood in the streets, cars that had problems starting on a sunny day, and the jobless men stood looking out the windows at the old machines dying like living things out there. the jobless men, failures in a failing time were imprisoned in their houses with their wives and children and their pets. the pets refused to go out and left their waste in strange places. the jobless men went mad confined with their once beautiful wives. there were terrible arguments as notices of foreclosure fell into the mailbox. rain and hail, cans of beans, bread without butter;fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs; peanut butter sandwiches, and an invisible chicken in every pot. my father, never a good man at best, beat my mother when it rained as I threw myself between them, the legs, the knees, the screams until they seperated. "I'll kill you," I screamed at him. "You hit her again and I'll kill you!" "Get that son-of-a-bitching kid out of here!" "no, Henry, you stay with your mother!" all the households were under seige but I believe that ours held more terror than the average. and at night as we attempted to sleep the rains still came down and it was in bed in the dark watching the moon against the scarred window so bravely holding out most of the rain, I thought of Noah and the Ark and I thought, it has come again. we all thought that. and then, at once, it would stop. and it always seemed to stop around 5 or 6 a.m., peaceful then, but not an exact silence because things continued to drip drip drip and there was no smog then and by 8 a.m. there was a blazing yellow sunlight, Van Gogh yellow- crazy, blinding! and then the roof drains relieved of the rush of water began to expand in the warmth: PANG!PANG!PANG! and everybody got up and looked outside and there were all the lawns still soaked greener than green will ever be and there were birds on the lawn CHIRPING like mad, they hadn't eaten decently for 7 days and 7 nights and they were weary of berries and they waited as the worms rose to the top, half drowned worms. the birds plucked them up and gobbled them down;there were blackbirds and sparrows. the blackbirds tried to drive the sparrows off but the sparrows, maddened with hunger, smaller and quicker, got their due. the men stood on their porches smoking cigarettes, now knowing they'd have to go out there to look for that job that probably wasn't there, to start that car that probably wouldn't start. and the once beautiful wives stood in their bathrooms combing their hair, applying makeup, trying to put their world back together again, trying to forget that awful sadness that gripped them, wondering what they could fix for breakfast. and on the radio we were told that school was now open. and soon there I was on the way to school, massive puddles in the street, the sun like a new world, my parents back in that house, I arrived at my classroom on time. Mrs. Sorenson greeted us with, "we won't have our usual recess, the grounds are too wet." "AW!" most of the boys went. "but we are going to do something special at recess," she went on, "and it will be fun!" well, we all wondered what that would be and the two hour wait seemed a long time as Mrs.Sorenson went about teaching her lessons. I looked at the little girls, they looked so pretty and clean and alert, they sat still and straight and their hair was beautiful in the California sunshine. the the recess bells rang and we all waited for the fun. then Mrs. Sorenson told us: "now, what we are going to do is we are going to tell each other what we did during the rainstorm! we'll begin in the front row and go right around! now, Michael, you're first!. . ." well, we all began to tell our stories, Michael began and it went on and on, and soon we realized that we were all lying, not exactly lying but mostly lying and some of the boys began to snicker and some of the girls began to give them dirty looks and Mrs.Sorenson said, "all right! I demand a modicum of silence here! I am interested in what you did during the rainstorm even if you aren't!" so we had to tell our stories and they were stories. one girl said that when the rainbow first came she saw God's face at the end of it. only she didn't say which end. one boy said he stuck his fishing pole out the window and caught a little fish and fed it to his cat. almost everybody told a lie. the truth was just too awful and embarassing to tell. then the bell rang and recess was over. "thank you," said Mrs. Sorenson, "that was very nice. and tomorrow the grounds will be dry and we will put them to use again." most of the boys cheered and the little girls sat very straight and still, looking so pretty and clean and alert, their hair beautiful in a sunshine that the world might never see again. and
We had rain for more than 7 days and nights in Cork Ireland. So this poem felt relevant to me. I'd audio recorded my version of it - and then I came across this. Bukowski tells his story so many times better than I could ever do. Thanks Brian - I love this
Awesome post. I love artists that struggle because we find something we relate to that brings unification. RIP Henry. The "underdog" keeps the world running. peace and love. ty
Best friend to read to me in the darkest of times when I needed him the most. "He took me and lifted me up and dropped me off in a better place"- from CHB "Doestyvsky:
It doesn’t rain near as much as I remember when I was younger either. But I’ve noticed this for quite awhile now. It’s true though, the first couple of rainy days are great, but then it really starts to get at you cos your clothes won’t dry, your towels won’t dry, solar heating doesn’t work.
in North Carolina. We are supposed to get inches of rain! I just so happened to come back to this. I applaud the rain! I hope for it! Im a wee girl again praying for it. We gotta have it. Its beautiful and I love it. Cmon rain!
Wouldn’t you love to hear his current commentary on this prophetic prose during this time with increasing poverty and global warming…I would. ..His silent voice is clearly missed.
My god he described my house, must be why I love this guy my two favorite poets Robert Frost and Hank, One the man I wish I could be instead of being like Hank.
Lived in SoCal most of my life, late 1950s on. Not that much rain, and the long term engineered drought. How I'd LOVE to have 7 days of nonstop rain. You can do everything in it. The world is yours. What's wrong with people? Especially if you're Northern European, it's your natural weather.
8:50 in. You can hear a womanly voice trying to "manage" him. Like blackened fire mittens, claiming godliness! Like talking a jumper down from the roof tiles, only to glow brightest before the swiftly turning lime-light. Me! Me! wot about me?! Wiv all I've put up wiv, ova tha' years an' all, you don't know 'im like I DO !... lol "Smoke me a badger!, I'll be back for Kipper-time!"
Lol there was a 3-6 years long drought during the great depression, which turned the plain field states (Texas, Arkansas and especially Oklahoma) into "Dust holes"
I miss my friends since becoming ill and often wander if we will ever see each other again. now I'm steaming get off my radar they are not my friends on the telepaphone. loosing my mind and I don't care anymore thought it was something to save but it isn't. don't worry about me i still have my spirit.
How do you know that? Maybe the rain is a metaphor for pain. Blues. Hardships. But why analyze? Maybe it is just about rain. Maybe its about the Depression.
Fucking troll, what the hell would you know about poetry? This is a master thinking back on the depression that ruined so many peoples lives. He is pouring his heart out recalling all those horrible days of never knowing when the next horrible act would take place due to the poverty. Something you must know nothing about.
Nourishment he's merely talking ...thru his whiskey bottle here. He has written some better stuff...As for you...better in life to debate than to start swearing at people who have ideas outside of your own..and whom you do not know a thing about.....no wonder YOU are depressed...calm down ...stop attacking...reflect on life more.
A negative opinion is always unwelcome. Next time you find yourself somewhere you don't like, just move on with your life. No need to leave a trolling comment that isn't even funny, merely weak. As for the swearing, I meant no disrespect, I was talking thru a bottle.
God bless CHB, I know damn good and well that I'm not the only one he got thru some dark times. Share this great contemporary with all your friends and family. We need more Bukowski no matter what he said 😊
