Home » Poetry » Day 105 – Dirty Old Men

Day 105 – Dirty Old Men

These celebrated dead men I find repulsive-
philanderers, drunks with silver-smooth tongues-
who kept a bit of the wrong spark, it seems to me.
Where rebel-young women pity horny old men
at the bottoms of bottles and bottles,
there is more indignance here- at this hunger
for the raw types of knowledge, the unsatiated lust
for bluebird flesh, so rare,
which neither can give to satisfaction.
Such temporary crossings in mismatched hells,
feeding and sucking deeper down into the end,
until just hardened, pristine eggs are left
for the dried-out addict corpses to tap,
consoled to costar in their making.

But which of these is to blame for the dragging:
the tormented easy-exit slaves
or
the ones who should’ve known?

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9 thoughts on “Day 105 – Dirty Old Men

    • I thought Salinger was bad until I learned more about Bukowski. Perhaps it’s not for someone like me to say but as far as leading a sad, debaucherous life for the sake of the craft, I’m not sure that’s the only way, or the best. Surely there is more to it.

  1. There’s a famous poem, “air and light and time and space,” by, well, Charles Bukowski, where he ridicules the idea of having to set aside a fancy writing room and desk and all the time in the world in order to create. If you want to create, you will create anywhere, and the ideal space is just an excuse that you use to keep from writing. If you replace the perfect space to write with a bottle of Tanqueray or Johnnie Walker, it still makes sense, maybe more than the original poem does.

    • I’ve read that one, and agreed profusely with it, but now that you mention it, it does make sense to look at it through that lens. This notion that writers need alcohol or drugs or women to suppress the melancholy brought on by the enlightened way they see the world seems quite ridiculous to me.

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