Born 100 years ago, writer, drinker, frequenter of racetracks and countercultural icon Charles Bukowski was celebrated in some circles, and notorious in others, for his often-antagonistic personality as expressed in his stories and columns in the underground press, but he was also a damn fine poet. When he read in public however, matters could often turn wild and belligerent; beer, belching, obscenities and threats were common. Bukowski Reads His Poetry, a 1980 LP initially on John Fahey’s Takoma label capturing a ’72 event, is getting reissued by Real Gone Records on vomit colored vinyl in an edition of 1,000 on August 21. As this is the label’s third pressing, its availability is surely finite.
The literary passions of my early adult years were four, held in such esteem that I had acquired a limited-edition portfolio of drawings by Robert Crumb of the authors sold under the title Meet the Beats and the Buk. It featured typically superb renderings of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs as a themed set, and a fourth, distinctly stylized, of Charles Bukowski, complete with a quotation: “A man who can beat the horses can do anything he makes up his mind to do.”
While I still value the work of all four today, naturally my views on the artists and their work has evolved on the path to the present, as youthful passion is frequently uncritical adulation; the dangers that come with age are to gaze upon past loves with jaded eyes (often alongside the inability to appreciate contemporary creativity). Of course, a few individuals are able to turn dyspeptic negativity into its own artform. Bukowski was amongst the very best.
For the longest time, the easiest (which is to say, affordable) inroads to Bukowski’s writing came through the short story/column collections Notes of a Dirty Old Man, Tales of Ordinary Madness, and The Most Beautiful Woman in Town & Other Stories, all published by fellow poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s City Lights Books, with the poetry and a half dozen novels issued by Black Sparrow Press.
That prolific imprint, headed by John Martin, was one of the premier small presses of its day. Still extant, Black Sparrow released the vast majority of Bukowski’s work during his lifetime and has kept it in print; amongst the riches is another short story collection Hot Water Music, numerous books of correspondence, and even a couple screenplays, the most famous being Barfly, filmed by Barbet Schroeder and released in 1987 starring Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway.
Barfly contributed heavily to the prevailing image of Bukowski as a drunken sage with a propensity for attitudinal interaction that frequently led to violence, but to its credit, it also emphasized that he, through his fictional alter ego Henry Chinaski, was a poet capable of profound insight and even sensitivity. Notably, in 1969, Bukowski was anthologized with Harold Norse and Philip Lamantia in Penguin Modern Poets 13.
It was around this period that the first recordings of Bukowski were made, though these weren’t from public readings but instead were captured at home and found on such albums as a 1968 split LP with poet Steve Richmond and on the 2LP 90 Minutes in Hell, issued in ’77 but featuring ’60s recordings. For folks looking for the essence of Bukowski the poet, these quieter offerings are often preferable to the sheer rowdiness (and bawdiness) of the readings.
It should be mentioned that original copies of the early records are highly expensive, which should be expected when rare vinyl intersects with a cult literary figure. The pricey stuff is still cataloged and available online though, so folks desiring to hear it aren’t required to break into their life savings to do so. But it should also be further noted that Bukowski’s early audio didn’t stick exclusively to poems, as tales were spun along with tangible evidence of the performer to come.
Maybe better said, by the late ’60s Bukowski was really honing his outlook as an extension of his art and vice versa, but by ’72 and Reads His Poetry he was in full performative mode, complete with jokes, verbal sparring with the audience, poems interrupted by belching, and yes, even those physical threats, plus numerous flashes of the man’s strength as a communicator, out loud as taken from the page. At this point, Bukowski was still an underground figure, but surely known enough in subterranean circles that the assembled crowd knew exactly what he was about.
Thankfully, there are also a few instances where the audience quiets and allows Bukowski to deliver extended streams of ordered thoughts, which naturally butts up against and even intermingles with seemingly unprovoked expressions of disdain and bursts of hostility from the stage, and even some culminating raunch in the reading of “The Best Love Poem.” To be crystal clear, Bukowski gets brazenly explicit, but ultimately not for the sake of shock or offense, but rather to make a salient observation on the expression of love.
But that’s the trick of this album, and the same with Rhino’s Hostage, which offers a reading from 1980. They slam Buk the performer (the ugliness, the meanness, the instigating, the dirty old man) into Buk the poet (who could elevate directness of language in a way that most serious modern non-Beat poetry chose not to) while avoiding any trace of schtick. There is spectacle, but overall, Bukowski didn’t lose track of the art.
This is not to say that there wasn’t a point where I grew a little tired of Bukowski the shit-stirrer and instead just focused on reading his poems. Over time I grew to believe that the poems on the page are where his true greatness was found. To elaborate, I’ll admit to letting a few rare Buk items I’d acquired pass on to other owners, including a signed limited hardcover of his novel Post Office (it’s on my shelf today in budget paperback), but I’ve continued to hold on to my copy of Penguin Modern Poets 13, with no plans to let that one go.
But y’know, in 2020, after a long time away from Bukowski on record, Reads His Poetry has reestablished the necessity of engaging with the full man, insults, bodily gas and all, especially since we’re unlikely to get another writer like him ever again.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
