My Favorite Poet

A couple of decades ago, I was in a small, indie bookstore in a different town, trolling the poetry stacks.  This title leapt off the shelf, grabbed me ‘round the neck and has never let go: “Play the Piano Drunk, Like a Percussion Instrument, Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit.” I mean, how can you NOT stop whatever you’re doing, sit right down, and start reading?  That’s what I did, right on the floor of that old bookstore. 

This slim volume of poetry by Charles Bukowski has remained my go-to volume for years.  He’s brutal and sometimes coarse, even vulgar sometimes.  He uses his words like a prizefighter uses his fists, but he also makes me laugh.  He was a miserable, despairing drunk, but he was so optimistic and hopeful that things would start to look up, eventually.  I just love him.