the luck of the word, poem by Charles Bukowski

THE LUCK OF THE WORD (Excerpt)
by Charles Bukowski

throughout the years
I have gotten letters
from men
who say
that reading my
books 
has helped them
get through,
go on.
this is high praise 
indeed
and I know what
they mean;
my nerve to go 
on was helped
by reading
Fante, Dostoevsky,
Lawrence, Celine, Hamsun
and others…
a good book
can make an almost
impossible
existence,
livable
for the reader
and
the writer.

SOURCE: “The Luck of the Word” appears in Charles Bukowski’s collection Betting on the Muse: Poems & Stories, available at Amazon.com.

Illustration: “Mr. Chinaski as seen by The Art Warriors” (theartwarriors.com) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — featured in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology.

The Luck of the Word, poem by Charles Bukowski

THE LUCK OF THE WORD (Excerpt)
Poem by Charles Bukowski

throughout the years
I have gotten letters
from men
who say
that reading my
books 
has helped them
get through,
go on.
this is high praise 
indeed
and I know what
they mean;
my nerve to go 
on was helped
by reading
Fante, Dostoevsky,
Lawrence, Celine, Hamsun
and others…
a good book
can make an almost
impossible
existence,
livable
for the reader
and
the writer.

***
“The Luck of the Word” appears in Charles Bukowski’s collection Betting on the Muse: Poems & Stories.

Illustration: “Mr. Chinaski as seen by The Art Warriors” (theartwarriors.com) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — featured in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology (2013).

Butterfly, Poem by D.H. Lawrence

BUTTERFLY

Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
 
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
 
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!

Photo: Grace Ray, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED