Poetry reading

Poetry reading
March 21st marks World Poetry Day. This day isn’t just about writing poetry. It is also about reading poetry. Charles Bukowski wrote the poem Poetry reading, that is a great poem to share on World Poetry Day.

March 21st marks World Poetry Day. This day isn’t just about writing poetry. It is also about reading poetry. Charles Bukowski wrote the poem Poetry reading, that is a great poem to share on World Poetry Day.

Analysis

Although Bukowski died in 1994, he is still able to reach a younger audience. Many people find his words both inspirational and sensational. It’s mostly because Bukowski wanted to hold a mirror and show the world that it isn’t all that good. There is always a need to be critical and to question things. As for reading poetry, sometimes it’s very hard to read poetry. Probably because society believes that this is something that has to do with famous dead poets. Rubbish of course! Poetry is still very much alive and there is more to poetry than dead people, who wrote poetry a long time ago.

Bukowski was ashamed of those who considered poetry just to be for a select group and is about a select group. Everyone should be able to read poetry. Due to the visions of some of his literary colleagues it turned into something that he felt ashamed of. That is why he gave us something else: the magnificent last stanza of this poem!

Poetry reading

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can’t find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.

I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.

if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:

a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant’s fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke

anything
anything
but
these.

— Charles Bukowski

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