Customer Reviews

You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense

5 star:		(13)
4 star:		(8)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

A collection of poems by Charles Bukowski is always a great joy. I followed his career since I was in high school back in the early 80s. He wrote a series of short stories for High Times magazine which I eagerly devoured. Then I moved on to his poetry. This collection: You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense is from 1986 when Buk was already a bit older and more reflective. This is around the time that his work began to reveal a degree of tenderness to go with his raw tough edged muse. Many say he lost it at this point. I disagree with that assessment. True it does not display the intense passion of Love Is A Dog From Hell but it is a great work on its own merit. Open it to any page and start reading. This is still vintage Hank. Aging Buk still has more blood and guts than most poets achieve ever. Anyone can just scream and curse. Bukowski obviously achieved something greater than that. And given how some other postal workers turned out, we should be grateful that Buk took to firing poems instead of bullets. Two thumbs up!

I love Bukowski's fiction, its straightforward, unadorned, yet precise diction, and its degraded, yet implacable hero(es?).

Poetry, to me, has always seemed a florid waste of time, and a lazy man's game. It seems like shorthand at its best moments.

But I can't get over the fact that this guy, while making fun of the form, is able to nail his little portraits with alarming consistency.

Some of these, like "My Ivy League Friends," are narrative, mean and straight.

Others, still eschewing metaphor, are humming, man-shaped bells, like "No Help For That."

There are some duds, and I won't bother pointing to them because they'll be obvious when you come to them.

But, I like this guy a lot. He's real, even when he does his best to avoid it.

Success and acclaim might damage some artists. They had the opposite effect on Bukowski. Once he felt he was getting the recognition he deserved, a lot of the bitter hatefulness fell away, and his brilliance grew brighter. This volume goes well with "The Last Night of the Earth Poems," the final volume published in his lifetime.

This book is one of the most influential books of poetry in my life. Growing up in Los Angeles I can relate to Bukowski. Bukowski is similar to John Steinbeck in that to truly appreciate his work you have to visit what they wrote about. To truly appreciate Steinbeck you have to visit Salinas or drive up the California coast. Similarly, to truly appreciate Bukowski you have to visit Los Angeles. You have to drive the freeways, go to the race tracks, and experience the city. The real city, not Hollywood, Disneyland, or Malibu. Although Los Angeles is glamorized in the media as a magical place where movie stars roam exotic beaches, Bukowski writes of Los Angeles as an ordinary, lonesome, city and he writes of it from the view of an ordinary, lonesome man. Its the fact that Bukowski writes in such a way to portray life and especially "magical" Los Angeles in such a real setting that draws you to this book. He writes about his alcoholism, wasting money at the race tracks, prostitutes, and homelessness, things that you ordinarily relate to New York or Chicago, but not Los Angeles. What makes this book so great is that Bukowski proves you can make ordinary people interesting and even if you take all the glimmer away from Los Angeles it's still very interesting. The subtle themes that run through Bukowski's poetry are exactly what I have stated, that ordinary people are interesting. Also another subtle theme, I would like to add, is that no indiviual is the center of the universe. No matter what you are doing, and how important you think what you are doing is, life still goes on around you. Life exists outside of your sphere. Someone somewhere is doing something more important than you. I think this theme is especcialy relevant to Los Angelitos because many of them can't get past the fact that the world does not revolve around them. So, if you enjoy poems that expose the world for what it is, and don't spice up reality, than this is an excellent book. I also reccomend it for college students because it will change your whole outlook on life. I recomend that those younger than college age do not read it because of the vulgarity and also Bukowski deals with alot of mature themes that are not appropraite for younger readers.

Reading Charles Bukowski is like being drunk. Without taking a drink. That is what it feels like to me. I'll have to consider whether any of my other favorite poets alter my consciousness that way, but at first consideration, I can't think of one who does. This is a good thing, a good drunk, a "speak the truth" type of drunk.

I read any/all of Hank's poetry the same way - a couple of pieces after a couple of beers. This combination makes me come back to Hank time and time again. Somehow he is able to cut through time, cut through death, cut through propriety and society without being depressing. He makes me feel like there is honor in just being truthful and sentient.

Imagine writing such simple, scuzzy stuff and knowing it was great at the same time? Here's to ya Hank!

You get so ALONE at times that it JUST MAKES SENSE. The title alone should make anyone intrigued, if nothing else, and in fact that's just what happened with me. Bukowski was more or less only a name to me when I stumbled across this book, one of so many literary figures whose work, I'd been told, I should check out. In many regards, it seems that this collection of poems was the best way to begin an aqcuaintance.

Penned at a time when Bukowski's turbulent life-style had seriously begun to affect his health, this book does not stand as particularly innovative in context to his own literary canon, and it may be argued that it offers less of the emotional rage which characterized much of his earlier work in the 1970's. However, that is one of the reasons why it is apt to make such a profound impact on the reader; no matter what his mood may be, Bukowski never fails to be Bukowski, enunciating his memories, visions and thoughts in his own distinct manner, which essentially consists of giving you the finger while acknowledging you as a loyal listener simultaneously. To write about sex, drugs, alcohol, loneliness and the weather is easy enough (in fact, such things seem to be the favorite topics of most writers), but few authors are able to be truly convincing about these things and still maintain a sort of reflective distance to it all; I guess a Bukowski is required for to do that.

It'd be a hard task to single out personal favorites in this collection, but to me, "January," "I'll take it..." and "Some Suggestions" are among the ones which deserve special mention. In sum, YOU FEEL SO ALONE AT TIMES THAT IT JUST MAKES SENSE may not be Bukowski's most outstanding work, but it is surefire nutrition to the fan, including several of his best poems. It is possibly among the best introductions to a newcomer as well, as it conveys a little bit of every aspect of the man: pitbull Buk and softer Buk.

Let's get this clear from the start: Charles Bukowski is the greatest American poet, who just happens to be unknown to the Americans I talk to. Just the other day in the library, I asked for his famous "Post Office" and they told me "Charles who?"
"You've never heard of Charles Bukowski?"
"No." The Librarian gave me a puzzled look.
"He's the greatest American poet?"
"Really?"
And so on...
What can I tell you about this book? Like in any other Buck's book there's so much trash in here that it's hard to make out what's good. There are several poems that are true masterpieces like "Trashcan Lives" or "Darkness," and some others. Would I recommend it? YES! If you're just starting to read Bukowski, don't bother with this, get an anthology. If you know Buck's works already, get this, you'll love it!

i love this book. i adore the poetry and the achingly real life interpretation. read it.

I hate poetry, but I love Buk's poems. This book is written in a more hesitant thought out manner. It seems as if Buk got sentimental for a period and the result is a book of poetry that seems mostly retrospective. These poems seem less emotional and more calm. Yet at times his poems recount hilarious antecdotes and reveal his retrospective insights concerning them. In one poem, Bukowski comments on people complaining that his recent poem's lack of urgency. I got the mental image of Bukowski aging alone and wondering why he isn't dead yet. This is a book of non-urgent slow moving beautiful poems. To put it in simplist terms, I recomend it.