BUKOWSKI

me and Faulkner

sure, I know that you are tired of hearing about it, but

most repeat the same theme over and over again, it's

as if they were trying to refine what seems so strange

and off and important to them, it's done by everybody

because everybody is of a different stripe and form

and each must work out what is before them

over and over again because

that is their personal tiny miracle

their bit of luck

like now as like before and before I have been slowly

drinking this fine red wine and listening to symphony after

symphony from this black radio to my left

some symphonies remind me of certain cities and certain rooms,

make me realize that certain people now long dead were able to

transgress graveyards

and traps and cages and bones and limbs

people who broke through with joy and madness and with

insurmountable force

in tiny rented rooms I was struck by miracles

and even now after decades of listening I still am able to hear

a new work never heard before that is totally

bright, a fresh-blazing sun

there are countless sub-stratas of rising surprise from the

human firmament

music has an expansive and endless flow of ungodly

exploration

writers are confined to the limit of sight and feeling upon the

page while musicians leap into unrestricted immensity

right now it's just old Tchaikowsky moaning and groaning his

way through symphony #5

but it's just as good as when I first heard it

I haven't heard one of my favorites, Eric Coates, for some time

but I know that if I keep drinking the good red and listening

that he will be along

there are others, many others

and so

this is just another poem about drinking and listening to

music

repeat, right?

but look at Faulkner, he not only said the same thing over and

over but he said the same

place

so, please, let me boost these giants of our lives

once more: the classical composers of our time and

of times past

it has kept the rope from my throat

maybe it will loosen

yours

from "Third Lung Review" - 1992

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