poetry church
Posted: October 23rd, 2014, 3:42 pm
The only person that could have sounded like Bukowski
was Bukowski, and yet he was the embodiment
of a lot of different elements, just as Hitler was
except the poet conquered the world through poetry
there are a lot of things in this world we will never know
but when we hear a poet like Bukowski, and there is only
one like him, we hear a bit of all those things
that even though we will never know, for a moment
the silence between the words has more accountability
there is a secret acknowledgement of the madness of humor
that underlies all existence, that between the madness and
the damned, there is some loathsome joke played by that
maker of all things, at our expense, it at once makes us all
equal to the lie, which in turn has a cathartic effect
it's ok if they bomb the cathedral, as long as they don't
commit sacrilege by reading obnoxious poetry inside it
and in this way we understand that goes on in the world
only has any resolution when we share in the sacrilege
of reading the poem in the profaned place, that they
have the nerve to say is holy, all that madness going
on out there in the name of some human purpose
and yet all it takes is one honest poem, to bring it all
down, around the ankles of the chosen ones
we don't need long lists of fantastic descriptions
of historical locations, and circumlocutions of them
actual events, or imagined actual events that actually
took place inside of grandiose sentences posed as reality
there are reasons for everything, including other reasons
if you follow the linear argument, you will never arrive
you will only have your sight fixed on the end object
poetry does not have to construct vast arguments and
tare them down again, through some convoluted process
it only has to look the truth in the eye, and spit a poem
a few well tossed words at the great laughing monstrosity
at the grotesque hallucination of civilization and progress
was Bukowski, and yet he was the embodiment
of a lot of different elements, just as Hitler was
except the poet conquered the world through poetry
there are a lot of things in this world we will never know
but when we hear a poet like Bukowski, and there is only
one like him, we hear a bit of all those things
that even though we will never know, for a moment
the silence between the words has more accountability
there is a secret acknowledgement of the madness of humor
that underlies all existence, that between the madness and
the damned, there is some loathsome joke played by that
maker of all things, at our expense, it at once makes us all
equal to the lie, which in turn has a cathartic effect
it's ok if they bomb the cathedral, as long as they don't
commit sacrilege by reading obnoxious poetry inside it
and in this way we understand that goes on in the world
only has any resolution when we share in the sacrilege
of reading the poem in the profaned place, that they
have the nerve to say is holy, all that madness going
on out there in the name of some human purpose
and yet all it takes is one honest poem, to bring it all
down, around the ankles of the chosen ones
we don't need long lists of fantastic descriptions
of historical locations, and circumlocutions of them
actual events, or imagined actual events that actually
took place inside of grandiose sentences posed as reality
there are reasons for everything, including other reasons
if you follow the linear argument, you will never arrive
you will only have your sight fixed on the end object
poetry does not have to construct vast arguments and
tare them down again, through some convoluted process
it only has to look the truth in the eye, and spit a poem
a few well tossed words at the great laughing monstrosity
at the grotesque hallucination of civilization and progress