killing him.
he is 27. I am 44. I can-t seem to
get rid of
him. his novels keep coming
back. -what do you expect me to do?â? he screams
-go to New York and pump the hands of the
publishers?â?
-no,â? I tell him, -but quit your job, go into a
small room and do the
thing.â?
-but I need ASSURANCE, I need something to
go by, some word, some sign!â?
-some men did not think that way:
Van Gogh, Wagner-â?
-oh hell, Van Gogh had a brother who gave him
paints whenever he
needed them!â?
-look,â? he said, -I-m over at this broad-s house today and
this guy walks in. a salesman. you know
how they talk. drove up in this new
car. talked about his vacation. said he went to
Frisco-saw Fidelio up there but forgot who
wrote it. now this guy is 54 years
old. so I told him: -Fidelio is Beethoven-s only
opera.- and then I told
him: -you-re a jerk!- -whatcha mean?- he
asked. -I mean, you-re a jerk, you-re 54 years old and
you don-t know anything!-â?
-what happened
then?â?
-I walked out.â?
-you mean you left him there with
her?â?
-yes.â?
-I can-t quit my job,â? he said. -I always have trouble getting a
job. I walk in, they look at me, listen to me talk and
they think right away, ah ha! he-s too intelligent for
this job, he won-t stay
so there-s really no sense in hiring
him.
now, YOU walk into a place and you don-t have any trouble:
you look like an old wino, you look like a guy who needs a
job and they look at you and they think:
ah ha!: now here-s a guy who really needs work! if we hire
him he-ll stay a long time and work
HARD!â?
-do any of those people,â? he asks -know you are a
writer, that you write poetry?â?
-no.â?
-you never talk about
it. not even to
me! if I hadn-t seen you in that magazine I-d
have never known.â?
-that-s right.â?
-still, I-d like to tell these people that you are a
writer.â?
-I-d still like to
tell them.â?
-why?â?
-well, they talk about you. they think you are just a
horseplayer and a drunk.â?
-I am both of those.â?
-well, they talk about you. you have odd ways. you travel alone.
I-m the only friend you
have.â?
-yes.â?
-they talk you down. I-d like to defend you. I-d like to tell
them you write
poetry.â?
-leave it alone. I work here like they
do. we-re all the same.â?
-well, I-d like to do it for myself then. I want them to know why
I travel with
you. I speak 7 languages, I know my music-â?
-forget it.â?
-all right, I-ll respect your
wishes. but there-s something else-â?
-what?â?
-I-ve been thinking about getting a
piano. but then I-ve been thinking about getting a
violin too but I can-t make up my
mind!â?
-buy a piano.â?
-you think
so?â?
-yes.â?
he walks away
thinking about
it.
I was thinking about it
too: I figure he can always come over with his
violin and more
sad music.
About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter
Charles Bukowski
(1)
Poem topics: brother, car, friend, house, respect, sad, time, today, long, place, room, small, sense, listen, mind, hard, vacation, forget, speak, alone, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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