It came to me today that you are dead,
as I sat down to eat my ham-on-rye;
I started crying, choked on bits of bread –
just who the hell are you to say “Don’t try”?
How many hours we trudged, behind Delane,
along the dusty sidewalks of LA,
then slipped inside a bar to ease the pain
with bourbon, and then somehow lost a day.
Were you a shy kid? Boy! You’ve had some fights
since those young days – we never count the cost –
but not like this; your crowding leukocytes
ganged up on you, that’s one fight that you lost…
and – damn! – what happened to our crazy love,
who gave that last, great obstacle a shove?
Author notes
"All in all, I had pretty much done what I had set out to do in life. I had made some good moves. I wasn't sleeping in the streets at night. Of course, there were a lot of good people sleeping in the streets. They weren't fools, they just didn't fit into the needed machinery of the moment."
In a list
- My American Voice • next in list
- Sonnets, sonnets, and more bloody sonnets • next in list
- Homages to other poets... • next in list
A contest entry
- Sonnet written for a dead poet. #81 Winklings and all AP Friends by Lyndon.
2600 points, ended May 15, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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very nicely done...
al
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Thank you.
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One of the cornerstones of historical fiction is attempting to interpret events through the invented dialogue of the characters. You have encapsulated the nature of Bukowski's life with this composition, quite an achievement in so few words. Peace, Liz
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Liz, I got a great deal of satisfaction from writing this. I have written many sonnets, but I always feel I have achieved something if I can up-date the "voice" of such an established form.
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Simply superb. I just LOVE the way you write. There is such expression in this sonnet that keeps the reader held, melded to the words, reading 'til the finish, yet not wanting it to end.
Excellent work. ~Pamela
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When it's there, it's there, Pamela. Thank you.
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You wrote about one of my favorite poets. He could be a stinker, but God, what a man. To live and tell, this was his legacy to us, and you've done him justice, my sweet cousin. Love, Lane
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I tried to write it from inside the head of "Sara" - a character in two (I think) of his novels, who is based on his wife Linda Lee Beighle - or certainly from the viewpoint of someone who cared about him enough to have shared his louche lifestyle. It was quite a challenge to write a coherent sonnet using 20c language.
I came across the quotation (in my notes) which I think is the last paragraph of "Pulp", and I thought it was appropriate.
Oh yeah, and Jeff is going to kill me if I don't say I got the idea to write about CB from him. It's half true
I am really, really pleased you liked this one.
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This is excellent. What rhythm and flow. The words all fit together as if they have been cut from the same stone. Just wonderful.
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An adventure caught in a sonnet and it tells a wonderful story.
Beautiful writing, most surely. 
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I love the way you've caught the idiom and "low-life" flavour of Bukowski, but this is not just a pastiche of Bukovskian idiom--it's also, and more importantly, a fine contemporary poem in it's own right. Excellent work.
With admiration,
Bill
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Thanks for the appreciation, Bill.
It isn't really a pastiche - that would be against the rules of the contest - but I felt that I needed to have a mid 20c flavour to the language to pay an appropriate tribute.
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One I actually know!
Bukowski!
(My lecturer has that picture)
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It's not supposed to be so much of a guessing game, so I slipped in a well-known picture. But good for you
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Beautiful rhythmic flow and wonderful contemporary image. You really love this Dead Poet contest don't you?
Love,
Amera
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I do. But I think that if I have another inspiration, I need to approach it from a different angle. I seem to be adept at 'persona' poetry, and I ought to try something different.
I am glad you appreciate this one, Sis.
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