late to the party

While cherry-picking articles in the LA Times I came across a piece on Charles Bukowski. I have never had much interest in the man, although I did make it a point to read at least one of his poems. Though suitably impressed, I was not intrigued. The article changed that, however.

The LA Times has a wonderful penchant for high-lighting poetry and its authors; Mark Strand and Don Paterson to name a couple. It's always a delight to come across such pieces. This one, pertaining to Bukowski, is no exception. In fact, I should thank the journalist by e-mail (though I won't because I'm lazy) for sparking my interest in a poet I had no interest in reading.

As with others of its ilk, the article contains an excerpt from the posthumous collection, The People Look Like Flowers At Last. It is the last poem in the book, and it was written by a man with death on his mind.

It is also a beautiful thing. I could taste the salt; could feel the reaching, dead dark as I reached the end. An excerpt:

it bothers the young most, I think:
an unviolent slow death.
still it makes any man dream;
you wish for an old sailing ship,
the white salt-crusted sail
and the sea shaking out hints of immortality.