NTA but I've read most of his stuff. I appreciate his energy and honesty, but he can get a bit tiring after a while.
Ham On Rye is his Magnum Opus. His prose translated well into the thoughts of a young, poor, angsty teenager. His poems often suffer from being samey and shitty.
Don't get me wrong. Bukowski had a lot of great lines and verses, but when I read 'What matters most is how you walk through the fire' I often found myself saying "Oh hey, another poem about drinking and betting on horses" because they really overstayed their welcome.
5 months ago
Anonymous
That’s fair. I did read one short story collection of his that sucked, but others were great. I love bukowski and think its fair to criticize his faults but to write him off altogether is a sign that one probably just didnt get the deeper meaning of what he was saying
5 months ago
Anonymous
Yeah, anyone who writes him off as a hack is a pseud with their head way too far up their own ass.
It's just that with Bukowski, you whether you read all of his works or just a few, you still read most of what he has to offer anyways.
Most of his stuff can be broken down into: >I got drunk >I like gambling >I want a woman >God I hate this woman >I'm so lonely >I fricking hate everyone
5 months ago
Anonymous
I agree but id also add something like
>why are people such buttholes even though we’re all headed to the same mass grave
5 months ago
Anonymous
>tfw I only read Post Office >80% of it was entirely about drinking and betting on horses
homie never changed
Inter alia, in Ham on Rye he recounts a story from his teenage years, the treatment he received at the county hospital for boils that had appeared on his face and back.
> “You have a case there, haven’t you?”
> “Yeah.”
> Well he said “we’re going to try to get some drainage.” I heard him turn on the machinery. It made a whirring sound. I could smell oil getting hot.
> He pushed the electric needle into my back. I was being drilled. The pain was immense. It filled the room. I felt the blood run down my back. And he pulled the needle out.
> “Now are going to get another one,” said the doctor. He jammed the needle into me.
> He drilled my entire back and then he got my chest. Then I stretched out and he drilled my neck and my face.
> The nurse came in and she got her instructions. “Now, Miss Ackerman, I want these pustules thoroughly drained. And when you get blood, keep squeezing. I want thorough drainage. And after with the ultraviolet machine. Two minutes on each side.”
>The drilling and squeezing continued for weeks, but there was little result. When one boil vanished another would appear. I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get. I would look at my face in disbelief, then turn to examine all the boils on my back. I was horrified. No wonder people stared, no wonder they said unkind things. It was not simply a case of teenage acne. These were inflamed relentless large swollen boils filled with pus. I felt singled out. It was as if I had been selected to be this way.
incel wagie
Was ugly as frick due to skin condition. Couldnt get any decent pussy until he was famous but he was old by then
(You)
Mostly…
But I love Hank
He sucked at writing yet made it his entire personality. He read Hemmingway once and thought drinking + typewriter = cash.
>Hemmingway
Why don’t you actually try reading him before you start saying stupid shit?
there is more to be gained from the writings on a bar bathroom stall than from bukowski
Have you read his poetry, and ham on rye?
NTA but I've read most of his stuff. I appreciate his energy and honesty, but he can get a bit tiring after a while.
Ham On Rye is his Magnum Opus. His prose translated well into the thoughts of a young, poor, angsty teenager. His poems often suffer from being samey and shitty.
Don't get me wrong. Bukowski had a lot of great lines and verses, but when I read 'What matters most is how you walk through the fire' I often found myself saying "Oh hey, another poem about drinking and betting on horses" because they really overstayed their welcome.
That’s fair. I did read one short story collection of his that sucked, but others were great. I love bukowski and think its fair to criticize his faults but to write him off altogether is a sign that one probably just didnt get the deeper meaning of what he was saying
Yeah, anyone who writes him off as a hack is a pseud with their head way too far up their own ass.
It's just that with Bukowski, you whether you read all of his works or just a few, you still read most of what he has to offer anyways.
Most of his stuff can be broken down into:
>I got drunk
>I like gambling
>I want a woman
>God I hate this woman
>I'm so lonely
>I fricking hate everyone
I agree but id also add something like
>why are people such buttholes even though we’re all headed to the same mass grave
>tfw I only read Post Office
>80% of it was entirely about drinking and betting on horses
homie never changed
low IQ college bro summary, well done
>He sucked at writing
Dinosauria, We is my favorite poem.
he was onto something though since he's so popular among normal folks.
>he was onto something though since he's so popular among normal folks.
>Normies like it so it must have merit
What the hell did you mean by this?
Everyone
Bastard had a heart that didn't fit his circumstances.
Being around young boomers and their forebearers.
You can just watch Trees Lounge and get the entire Bukowski milieu in an hour and a half.
"HEY MAN I MIGHT BE A DRUNK BUT..."
It's not all bad but it's clunky now in 2024.
>What was his fricking problem?
Inter alia, in Ham on Rye he recounts a story from his teenage years, the treatment he received at the county hospital for boils that had appeared on his face and back.
> “You have a case there, haven’t you?”
> “Yeah.”
> Well he said “we’re going to try to get some drainage.” I heard him turn on the machinery. It made a whirring sound. I could smell oil getting hot.
> He pushed the electric needle into my back. I was being drilled. The pain was immense. It filled the room. I felt the blood run down my back. And he pulled the needle out.
> “Now are going to get another one,” said the doctor. He jammed the needle into me.
> He drilled my entire back and then he got my chest. Then I stretched out and he drilled my neck and my face.
> The nurse came in and she got her instructions. “Now, Miss Ackerman, I want these pustules thoroughly drained. And when you get blood, keep squeezing. I want thorough drainage. And after with the ultraviolet machine. Two minutes on each side.”
>The drilling and squeezing continued for weeks, but there was little result. When one boil vanished another would appear. I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get. I would look at my face in disbelief, then turn to examine all the boils on my back. I was horrified. No wonder people stared, no wonder they said unkind things. It was not simply a case of teenage acne. These were inflamed relentless large swollen boils filled with pus. I felt singled out. It was as if I had been selected to be this way.
Charles was probably too self-aware about being another fricking alcoholic
>What was his fricking problem?
He had plenty of 'em. He wrote about 'em in his books, which you should read.
Almost finished Ham On Rye, already read Post Office. What next?
>What next?
Factotum
Why that and not Women?
Women is also good, but sequentially is post-wagie. Factotum makes more sense after Post Office. But they're all good, flip a coin.
I would say Pulp, but don't take it seriously like morons on this board usually do
He had terminal midwit syndrome. Many such cases
>He had terminal midwit syndrome.
He never feigned intellectualism, so he wasn't a midwit.
child abuse
Bukowski is maudlin and mundane.
A very potent combo for feeling secondhand embarassment.
He is like Diet Bataille.