(Mostly) Ars Poeticas

 
How To Write A Poem Like Charles Bukowski (Or: HAHAHAHA! SUCKERS!)

First take your prostitute,
one that's been around for a while,
lacking a few teeth, perhaps,
but having a heart of gold.

A sack, too, will be useful.

Next you'll need a handful of sores,
and if they're red and weeping
so much the better:
it fits the objective correlative.

Then you'll need a bluebird,
which will live in your chest
and stick its head out your arse,
singing: 'I love me! I love me! I'm great!'


["Wait a minute! This isn't poetry;
it's prose, chopped up
and put on the page
to make it seem like a poem."

"I must confess you're right, dear reader,
but that's what Charlie did.
He wrote prose, and bad prose at that.
This is a satirical poem."

"Ah! I see.
Well, to stop me dying of boredom,
could you liven up the last part of it, please,
with a bit of rhythm and perhaps a rhyme?"

"Righty ho, dear reader,
I'll see what I can do.
Thanks for stopping by,
and enjoy the rest of your day."]


Another ingredient seems to be
grinding poverty and misery
and he glories in it like a pig in shit,
without ever being a real part of it,

without ever wanting to battle it,
to alter it, which after all
is the point of it – isn't it? –
but instead of which he exploits it

then takes that sack
I mentioned earlier,
fills it with cash,
and laughs —
all the way to the bank.


["Will that do, dear reader?"]

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Ars Poetica (According to TS Eliot)

Dear ajay,

When writing verse, the most important thing
is that the poems make no sense and miss
the mark of meaning. Critics then will sing
your praise and all come flocking round to kiss
your arse. Profound and deep you will be thought,
and when your books appear, then bank on this –
they’ll all fly off the shelves! You will be sought
by universities to speak for hours
about your work, and each and every thought
of yours, though it be utter shite, the powers
of mighty brains will analyse and send
your reputation soaring. Atop the towers
of Fame you’ll stand; on this you can depend.
Try it, and watch your poet star ascend.


All the best,
Tom xx

PS  It works for novels too. Just ask James Joyce.


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Ars Poetica (According To Charles Bukowski)

Dear ajay

The art of poetry?
It’s shite!
Don’t bother with it.

Just write prose and break
the lines
when you feel like it
so it looks like a poem.

Nobody will notice anyway as long as you write cock,
cunt, balls, asshole and mothefucker
every few lines.

Oh,
and throw in a reference to some sort of bird
or something else cute,
so that you get a bit of sympathy
and people think you’re vulnerable
instead of a calculating, cynical, talentless bastard
who just wants a few more sales.

Poetry, though? Fuck that!.
What you really need
is an image.

Dig?

Create one
then sell it to the punters
the way a marketing department sells
a sliced white loaf

with a fancy wrapper
to disguise the fact
that there’s fuck all in there but air.

Think up a few soundbites
that sound cool,

but don’t actually mean
anything.
Repeat them as often as you can.

You gotta keep pushing
that image, baby!

Oh, and turn
up pissed for any readings you give.
Treat your fans
like shit.
That's good for the image, too.
Exploit those bastards!
They love it.

Poetry?
You’re jokin’.
Gotta go.

See ya.
Charlie xx

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Ars Poetica (According To E. J. Thribb (aged 17 ¾)

Dear ajay,

Whatever
you do,
don't
use
the
short
line
and
let your
poem
dribble
down
the
page
like this

unless
you're
writing
a poem
about
weak piss

dribbling
down
a
backyard
wall.


Yours sincerely,
E. J. Thribb (aged 17¾)

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One For TS, Ezra And The Buk

Pound and Eliot, I despise!
That poison pair I'd love to kick!
They ruined poetry for years!
The gruesome twosome make me sick!

The Waste Land's rubbish, utter tripe!
The Cantos? Well, they're even worse!
I don't think I have ever read
a bigger load of awful verse!

Oh, wait a minute! Yes, I have!
That time I had such rotten luck
to pick up – most unfortunately! –
and read a Charles Bukowski book.

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