Shane M.
In this volume, Bukowski claims that, "it took me 15 years to humanize poetry but it’s going to take more than me to humanize humanity." Night time seems the right time for any and all of these poems as the overwhelming thematic impetus overlaying the current inspiration and introspection found in this all-encompassing work.
Regardless of how much he never gave a shit about what people thought about him, I’m pretty sure that every human being has some level of self-preservation. There’s a natural instinct not to share certain things because you know that it could change the way people look at you. That’s why I feel like this book – and some of his other posthumous work – is somehow more honest than most of his other writing. This collection contains a soul of its own, wizened and wretched, his own womanizing not withstanding. The poems somehow seem to go together to create a new cohesive whole that’s bigger than its parts, which gives it an edge over other collections.
At the very least these poems appear to be "invitingly open" on the surface (or at least as an 'initial' or 'precursory' read for many of those unfamiliar with Bukowski's work) if not all together (or altogether) openly inviting as a whole.
In this volume, Bukowski claims that, "it took me 15 years to humanize poetry but it’s going to take more than me to humanize humanity." Night time seems the right time for any and all of these poems as the overwhelming thematic impetus overlaying the current inspiration and introspection found in this all-encompassing work.
Regardless of how much he never gave a shit about what people thought about him, I’m pretty sure that every human being has some level of self-preservation. There’s a natural instinct not to share certain things because you know that it could change the way people look at you. That’s why I feel like this book – and some of his other posthumous work – is somehow more honest than most of his other writing. This collection contains a soul of its own, wizened and wretched, his own womanizing not withstanding. The poems somehow seem to go together to create a new cohesive whole that’s bigger than its parts, which gives it an edge over other collections.
At the very least these poems appear to be "invitingly open" on the surface (or at least as an 'initial' or 'precursory' read for many of those unfamiliar with Bukowski's work) if not all together (or altogether) openly inviting as a whole.