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day now
    I shall be, I shall be, I shall be...
    I intend to take all the time in this world,
    consider everything, even miracles,
    yet remain on guard, ever
    more careful, more watchful,
    against those who would sin against me,
    against those who would steal vodka,
    against those who would do me harm.
    ROGUE RIVER JET-BOAT TRIP, GOLD BEACH, OREGON, JULY 4,1977
    They promised an unforgettable trip,
    deer, marten, osprey, the site
    of the Mick Smith massacre—
    a man who slaughtered his family,
    who burnt his house down around his ears—
    a fried chicken dinner.
    I am not drinking. For this
    you have put on your wedding ring and driven
    500 miles to see for yourself.
    This light dazzles. I fill my lungs
    as if these last years
    were nothing, a little overnight portage.
    We sit in the bow of the jet-boat
    and you make small talk with the guide.
    He asks where we're from, but seeing
    our confusion, becomes
    confused himself and tells us
    he has a glass eye and we
    should try to guess which is which.
    His good eye, the left, is brown, is
    steady of purpose, and doesn't
    miss a thing. Not long past
    I would have snagged it out
    just for its warmth, youth, and purpose,
    and because it lingers on your breasts.
    Now, I no longer know what's mine, what
    isn't. I no longer know anything except
    I am not drinking—though I'm still weak
    and sick from it. The engine starts.
    The guide attends the wheel.
    Spray rises and falls on all sides
    as we head upriver.
    TWO 0
    YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS (an evening with Charles Bukowski)
    You don't know what love is Bukowski said
    I'm 51 years old look at me
    I'm in love with this young broad
    I got it bad but she's hung up too
    so it's all right man that's the way it should be
    I get in their blood and they can't get me out
    They try everything to get away from me
    but they all come back in the end
    They all came back to me except
    the one I planted
    I cried over that one
    but I cried easy in those days
    Don't let me get onto the hard stuff man
    I get mean then
    I could sit here and drink beer
    with you hippies all night
    I could drink ten quarts of this beer
    and nothing it's like water
    But let me get onto the hard stuff
    and 111 start throwing people out windows
    111 throw anybody out the window
    I've done it
    But you don't know what love is
    You don't know because you've never
    been in love it's that simple
    I got this young broad see she's beautiful
    She calls me Bukowski
    Bukowski she says in this little voice
    and I say What
    But you don't know what love is
    I'm telling you what it is
    but you aren't listening
    There isn't one of you in this room
    would recognize love if it stepped up
    and buggered you in the ass
    I used to think poetry readings were a copout
    Look I'm 51 years old and I've been around
    I know they're a copout
    but I said to myself Bukowski
    starving is even more of a copout
    So there you are and nothing is like it should be
    That fellow what's his name Galway Kinnell
    I saw his picture in a magazine
    He has a handsome mug on him
    but he's a teacher
    Christ can you imagine
    But then you're teachers too
    here I am insulting you already
    No I haven't heard of him
    or him either
    They're all termites
    Maybe it's ego I don't read much anymore
    but these people who build
    reputations on five or six books
    termites
    Bukowski she says
    Why do you listen to classical music all day
    Can't you hear her saying that
    Bukowski why do you listen to classical music all day
    That surprises you doesn't it
    You wouldn't think a crude bastard like me
    could listen to classical music all day
    Brahms Rachmaninoff Bartok Telemann
    Shit I couldn't write up here
    Too quiet up here too many trees
    I like the city that's the place for me
    I put on my classical music each morning
    and sit down in front of my typewriter
    I light a cigar and I smoke it like this see
    and I say Bukowski you're a lucky man
    Bukowski you've gone through it all
    and you're a lucky man
    and the blue smoke drifts across