to the whore who took my poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
here'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
"to the whore who took my poems" Copyright© 1974 by Charles Bukowski. Reprinted from _Burning_in_Water_Drowning_in_Flame:_Selected_Poems_1955-1973_ with written permission of Black Sparrow Press.
מי נתן לי לכתוב בלוג? אני לא שולטת בסימני הפיסוק.
העתקתי והדבקתי מתוך אתר לכבוד צ'ארלס בוקובסקי בהומאז' למען דווידי רוזנפלד היקר. הכותרת טובה מדי. אני צריכה לכבוש אותה לעצמי.