Dreams of Bunker Hill, novel by John Fante

Black Sparrow Press published Dreams of Bunker Hill in 1982, the year before John Fante passed away at age 74. During Fante’s final years, he suffered the debilitating effects of diabetes — losing both his vision and his legs to the disease. But despite the challenges and disappointments in his life — including frustrating years as a Hollywood screenwriter — Fante never lost that “animal gusto” (to use Raymond Chandler‘s expression) that allowed him to create great works of art.

Case in point is his final novel Dreams of Bunker HIll — a bookend to his masterpiece Ask the Dust — which explores the writing career of his fictional alter ego Arturo Bandini. Dreams of Bunker Hill is fresh, full of life, funny, and feels like the work of a young man — though a blind, septuagenarian Fante dictated the book to his wife Joyce, who transcribed his words into written form.

Nothing to do all day and night but write, quote by John Fante

“The good days, the fat days, page upon page of manuscript; prosperous days, something to say…the pages mounted and I was happy. Fabulous days, the rent paid, still fifty dollars in my wallet, nothing to do all day and night but write and think of writing; ah, such sweet days, to see it grow, to worry for it, myself, my book, my words, maybe important, maybe timeless, but mine nevertheless, the indomitable Arturo Bandini, already deep into his first novel. “

From Chapter Sixteen of Ask the Dust a novel by John Fante, originally published in 1939.

The Old Master, poem by Adrian Manning

THE OLD MASTER
by Adrian Manning

I sit at my old typer, at a desk
in my  room.
above me is a shelf full of books
by a writer called Bukowski.
I read the titles and think to myself
if I could only come up with one line
like one of those titles
I could really have something.
there are many books and magazines,
I have not counted them,
and there are possibly more poems in them
than an army of men could produce
and they are mostly very good and
if not very good they are good.
I wish the words were like bees
humming around my head in a storm
of vibrant movement. I could possibly
catch some of them and nail them down
with a Bukowski book.
he sits in a photo, on one shelf,
in his later years, the hard work behind him,
one arm resting on his chair, the other
raised to the temple of his head
and he looks thoroughly unimpressed.
he’s telling me, work it boy, gotta keep going,
you’re nowhere near yet.
I look up at the photo
and tell him you’re right,
you son of a bitch,
you were always right.

SOURCE: “The Old Master” and other poetry about Charles Bukowski by Adrian Manning appears in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology – a collection of poetry, short stories, essays, interviews, photography, and art from authors and artists around the world — available at Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Adrian Manning writes from Leicester, England. His poetry and articles have appeared in numerous chapbooks, magazines and on-line sites around the world. He is also the editor of Concrete Meat Press and a massive fan and collector of works by Charles Bukowski.

Cover art: Mark Erickson and Birgit Zartl

The Lucky Ones, poem by Charles Bukowski

THE LUCKY ONES
Poem by Charles Bukowski

stuck in the rain on the freeway, 6:15 p.m.,
these are the lucky ones, these are the
dutifully employed, most with their radios on as loud
as possible as they try not to think or remember.

this is our new civilization: as men
once lived in trees and caves now they live
in their automobiles and on freeways as

the local news is heard again and again while
we shift from first gear to second and back to first.

there’s a poor fellow stalled in the fast lane ahead, hood
up, he’s standing against the freeway fence
a newspaper over his head in the rain.

the other cars force their way around his car, pull out into
the next lane in front of cars determined to shut them off.

in the lane to my right a driver is being followed by a
police car with blinking red and blue lights – he surely
can’t be speeding as

suddenly the rain comes down in a giant wash and all the
cars stop and

even with the windows up I can smell somebody’s clutch
burning.

I just hope it’s not mine as

the wall of water diminishes and we go back into first
gear; we are all still
a long way from home as I memorize
the silhouette of the car in front of me and the shape of the

driver’s head or
what
I can see of it above the headrest while
his bumper sticker asks me
HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR KID TODAY?

suddenly I have an urge to scream
as another wall of water comes down and the
man on the radio announces that there will be a 70 percent 
chance of showers tomorrow night

PHOTO: Bright Fizz, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Nothing to do all day and night but write, quote by John Fante

The good days, the fat days, page upon page of manuscript; prosperous days, something to say…the pages mounted and I was happy. Fabulous days, the rent paid, still fifty dollars in my wallet, nothing to do all day and night but write and think of writing; ah, such sweet days, to see it grow, to worry for it, myself, my book, my words, maybe important, maybe timeless, but mine nevertheless, the indomitable Arturo Bandini, already deep into his first novel. “

From Chapter Sixteen of Ask the Dust a novel by John Fante, originally published in 1939.

Photo: Vintage notecard found on Flickr.

The Old Master, poem by Adrian Manning

THE OLD MASTER
by Adrian Manning

I sit at my old typer, at a desk
in my  room.
above me is a shelf full of books
by a writer called Bukowski.
I read the titles and think to myself
if I could only come up with one line
like one of those titles
I could really have something.
there are many books and magazines,
I have not counted them,
and there are possibly more poems in them
than an army of men could produce
and they are mostly very good and
if not very good they are good.
I wish the words were like bees
humming around my head in a storm
of vibrant movement. I could possibly
catch some of them and nail them down
with a Bukowski book.
he sits in a photo, on one shelf,
in his later years, the hard work behind him,
one arm resting on his chair, the other
raised to the temple of his head
and he looks thoroughly unimpressed.
he’s telling me, work it boy, gotta keep going,
you’re nowhere near yet.
I look up at the photo
and tell him you’re right,
you son of a bitch,
you were always right.

“The Old Master” and other poetry about Charles Bukowski by Adrian Manning appears in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology – a collection of poetry, short stories, essays, interviews, photography, and art from authors and artists around the world — available at Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Adrian Manning writes from Leicester, England. His poetry and articles have appeared in numerous chapbooks, magazines and on-line sites around the world. He is also the editor of Concrete Meat Press and a massive fan and collector of works by Charles Bukowski.

Cover art: Mark Erickson and Birgit Zartl

Joan Jobe Smith Visits Charles Bukowski on Father’s Day

Joan Jobe Smith, author of the Silver Birch Press release CHARLES BUKOWSKI EPIC GLOTTIS: His Art, His Women (& me) paid a visit to her friend and mentor on Sunday, June 16th — Father’s Day. She offers these details: “Confettied his grave with pink geraniums. Buk loved flowers, preferred yellow roses and sunflowers. He didn’t say what he thought about [my book] EPIC GLOTTIS. But he has said ‘Don’t try!’ And I didn’t. Writing my Buk Book came easy. Buk was one fine Muse. He is also the Literary Father to me and Fred [Voss — Joan’s husband].”

PHOTO: Joan Jobe Smith stands next to Charles Bukowski‘s grave while offering pink geraniums and her memoir, CHARLES BUKOWSKI EPIC GLOTTIS. Photo by Fred Voss. (Charles Bukowski is buried at Green Hills Memorial Park in Rancho Palos Verdes, California.)

Find CHARLES BUKOWSKI EPIC GLOTTIS by Joan Jobe Smith at Amazon.com.

Mark Your Calendars: Bukowski Anthology Launch Party, 9/22/13

Silver Birch Press is pleased to announce that Skylight Books, Los Angeles, will host a launch party for the Silver Birch Press BUKOWSKI ANTHOLOGY. So-Cal Buk (and book) lovers, please mark your calendars!

WHAT: Silver Birch Press BUKOWSKI ANTHOLOGY launch party and reading

WHERE: Skylight Books, 1818 N. Vermont Ave., Los Angeles, CA, 90027, 323-660-1175

WHEN: Sunday, September 22, 2013, 5-7 P.M.

More information about the event coming soon! 

(Cover art by Mark Erickson and Birgit Zartl)

The Lucky Ones, Poem by Charles Bukowski

THE LUCKY ONES

Poem by Charles Bukowski

stuck in the rain on the freeway, 6:15 p.m.,
these are the lucky ones, these are the
dutifully employed, most with their radios on as loud
as possible as they try not to think or remember.

this is our new civilization: as men
once lived in trees and caves now they live
in their automobiles and on freeways as

the local news is heard again and again while
we shift from first gear to second and back to first.

there’s a poor fellow stalled in the fast lane ahead, hood
up, he’s standing against the freeway fence
a newspaper over his head in the rain.

the other cars force their way around his car, pull out into
the next lane in front of cars determined to shut them off.

in the lane to my right a driver is being followed by a
police car with blinking red and blue lights – he surely
can’t be speeding as

suddenly the rain comes down in a giant wash and all the
cars stop and

even with the windows up I can smell somebody’s clutch
burning.

I just hope it’s not mine as

the wall of water diminishes and we go back into first
gear; we are all still
a long way from home as I memorize
the silhouette of the car in front of me and the shape of the

driver’s head or
what
I can see of it above the headrest while
his bumper sticker asks me
HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR KID TODAY?

suddenly I have an urge to scream
as another wall of water comes down and the
man on the radio announces that there will be a 70 percent 
chance of showers tomorrow night

Photo: Bright Fizz, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

John Fante’s Homage to Knut Hamsun

“Please God, please Knut Hamsun, don’t desert me now.” JOHN FANTE, Dreams of Bunker Hill

Black Sparrow Press published Dreams of Bunker Hill in 1982, the year before John Fante passed away at age 74.  During Fante’s final years, he suffered the debilitating effects of diabetes — losing both his vision and his legs to the disease. But despite the challenges and disappointments in his life — including frustrating years as a Hollywood screenwriter — Fante never lost that “animal gusto” (to use Raymond Chandler‘s expression) that allowed him to create great works of art.

Case in point is his final novel Dreams of Bunker HIll — a bookend to his masterpiece Ask the Dust — which explores the writing career of his fictional alter ego Arturo Bandini. Dreams of Bunker Hill is fresh, full of life, funny, and feels like the work of a young man — though a blind, septuagenarian Fante dictated the book to his wife Joyce, who transcribed his words into written form. How Fante was able to envision a book he couldn’t outline or see has always inspired and amazed me.

What I love about Fante’s novels is that they seem a total revelation — even if you’ve read them before. They are always there, waiting to be enjoyed.

In the final pages of Dreams from Bunker HIll, Fante calls on his idol, Knut Hamsun, to help him write his novel — and Hamsun didn’t let him down.