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'Buk' is one of my heroes and this is my favourite poem by him
So You Want To Be A Writer
(by Charles Bukowski http://allpoetry.com/Charles_Bukowski)
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
Guest Book
- I love the Bukowski poem you have posted. It's one of my favorites. The theme reminds me of a poem by Marge Piercy called 'For the young who want to' I don't know if you're already familiar with it but just in case you're not--
For the young who want to
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.
Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.
Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a bum.
The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else's mannerisms
is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you're certified a dentist.
The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
Hi Stacey and thanks for sending this, I'm delighted to have it on my page. Buk's poem may well be my favourite bar none and its definitely my favourite on the topic of writing. I don't think doing it or not doing it is really even a choice. If writing is YOUR illness - lucky you! If you're just looking for recognition - good luck with that. Nice doing poetry with you. >W< .
- ← You handled Hodges with the sharp tongue of menstrual Gorgon.
So well done.
My Respects,
Ð - ← 'The sharp tongue of a menstrual Gorgon' ? Might you mean 'pre-menstrual Gorgon' ? As it stands, this is a particularly disturbing image!
Young Barry is indeed fortunate to have so many loyal adversaries around here. I was pretty hard on him but what does he expect when he presents himself as a troll all the time? I suspect he's just a bit shy, especially when it comes to putting some of his REAL writing out in the firing line. He would, I suspect, be pleasantly surprised at the response should he ever choose to do so. There is, alas, no way of knowing.
One thing for sure - he has a voice, an unmistakeable style and signature to his writing. I'd know him anywhere.
Thanks for my trophy and the compliment of making me a favourite. >W - ROFL....your remarks about horticulture (I'll bet it hasn't stopped you from trying, now, has it....lol )....
Delighted to have mingled down drafts with WIndhover..... - Alas the 'horticulture' thing is not my own, it's a famous quote from Dorothy Parker. And watch out with those mingling downdrafts, especially if I've been eating curry! Thanks for stopping by here. :-) >W
- See all
on Sep 18 07:55 AM
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