Consummation Of Grief

I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water 
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great
I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines. . .
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead. 

 
Charles Bukowski

"Culminacion Del Dolor" - Charles Bukowski

"THE MAN AT THE PIANO" by CHARLES BUKOWSKI 

"THE MAN AT THE PIANO
 PLAYS A SONG
 HE DIDN'T WRITE
 SINGS WORDS
 THAT AREN'T HIS
 UPON A PIANO
 HE DOESN'T OWN

WHILE
 PEOPLE AT TABLES 
 EAT, DRINK AND TALK 

THE MAN AT THE PIANO
 FINISHES
 TO NO APPLAUSE

THEN 
 BEGINS TO PLAY
 A NEW SONG
 HE DIDN'T WRITE
 BEGINS TO SING 
 WORDS
 THAT AREN'T HIS
 UPON A PIANO
 THAT ISN'T HIS

AS THE
 PEOPLE AT THE TABLES
 CONTINUE TO
 EAT, DRINK AND TALK

WHEN
 HE FINISHES
 TO NO APPLAUSE 
 HE ANNOUNCES,
 OVER THE MIKE, THAT HE IS
 GOING TO TAKE
 A TEN MINUTE BREAK 

HE GOES
 BACK TO THE MEN'S
 ROOM
 ENTERS
 A TOILET BOOTH
 BOLTS THE DOOR
 SITS DOWN
 PULLS OUT A JOINT
 LIGHTS UP 

HE'S GLAD
 HE'S NOT
 AT TME PIANO 

AND THE
 PEOPLE AT THE TABLES
 EATING, DRINKING AND TALKING
 ARE GLAD 
 HE ISN'T THERE
 EITHER 

THIS IS
 THE WAY IT GOES
 ALMOST EVERYWHERE
 WITH EVERYBODY AND EVERYTHING 
 AS FIERCELY
 IN THE HIGHLANDS
 THE 
 BLACK SWAN BURNS" 


"El Hombre Del Piano", de Charles Bukowski, por Yasmin

Saboreo las cenizas de tu muerte
las flores esparcen
agua inesperada
en mi manga,
agua inesperada
fría y limpia
como nieve
mientras espadas
afiladas como tallos
entran contra tu pecho
y las dulces rocas salvajes
caen encima
y
nos encierran.

"Saboreo..." Charles Bukowski

"The flowers lover"

In the Valkerie Mountains
among the strutting peacocks
I found a flower
as large as my
head
and when I reached in 
to smell it
I lost an ear lobe
part of my nose
one eye
and half a pack of
cigarettes.

I came back
the next day
to hack the damned thing
down
but found it so
beautiful I
killed a
peacock
instead.



"El Amante De Las Flores" por Yasmin Caparó (autor: Charles Bukowski)

"Todo"
Los muertos no necesitan
 aspirina o
 tristeza
 supongo.

 pero quizás necesitan
 lluvia.
 zapatos no
 pero un lugar donde
 caminar.

 cigarrillos no,
 nos dicen,
 pero un lugar donde
 arder.

 O nos dicen:
 Espacio y un lugar para
 volar,
 da
 igual.

 los muertos no me
 necesitan.

 ni los
 vivos.

 pero quizás los muertos se necesitan
 unos a
 otros.

 En realidad, quizás necesitan
 todo lo que nosotros
 necesitamos

 y
 necesitamos tanto
 Si solo supiéramos
 que
 es.

 probablemente
 es
 todo

 y probablemente
 todos nosotros moriremos
 tratando de
 conseguirlo

 o moriremos

 porque no
 lo
 conseguimos.

 Espero que
 cuando yo esté muerto
 comprendas

 que conseguí
 tanto
 como
 pude.

Charles Bukowski.

Todo - Charles Bukowski

 "Estas y otras cosas
 Demuestran que la vida gira en torno a un eje podrido.
 Pero nos han dejado un poco de música
 Y un póster clavado en el rincón
 Un vaso de whisky, una corbata azul
 Un delgado volumen de poemas de Rimbaud,
 Un caballo que corre como si el diablo le estuviera
 Retorciendo la cola
 Sobre la hierba azul y el griterío
 Y después, de nuevo, el amor
 Como un coche que dobla la esquina
 Puntual
 La ciudad a la espera
 El vino y las flores
 El agua corriendo a través del lago,
 Y verano e invierno y verano y verano
 Y de nuevo invierno."

"Si Consideramos" from Charles Bukowski, by Yasmin

By Charles Bukowski

Ice For the Eagles

I keep remembering the horses
under the moon
I keep remembering feeding the horses
sugar white oblongs of sugar more like ice,
and they had heads like eagles 
bald heads that could bite 
and did not.
The horses were more real than
my father 
more real than God
and they could have stepped on my feet 
but they didn’t
they could have done all kinds of horrors 
but they didn’t.
I was almost 5 but I have not forgotten yet;
Oh my god 
they sere strong and good
those red tongues slobbering
out their souls.

Hielo Para Las Aguilas - Charles Bukowski

"Bluebird"
There's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up? 
you want to screw up the
works? 
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe? 
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you? 

Charles Bukowski

Yas Bukowski