Are You Drinking?

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last

by Charles Bukowski Click to read full poem

Comments (33)

events consistency.the genius mind.
the same stale yet fluctuating factors. even at the track I watch the horses run by and it seems meaningless. thinking, life's situations. a very good poem. tony
greatly written- just an old guy just an old writer with a yellow notebook. something is walking across the floor toward me.
Do you drink? The doc will ask you for confirmation not for information. Here's a poet who was not at a loss for a muse anytime anywhere. I admire the acceptance he sounds of his advanced age and state of being. For what indeed does it help a man to age grumpily. Love this piece...
I think that I am just ill with life, the same stale yet fluctuating factors. I wonder how many people take alcohol because they are depressed with the mundane state of affairs that is life? Is the opposite of alcohol addiction, or any addiction, connection? He truly was a lonely man, and a powerful writer. I am enjoy his pessimistic view of the world - it's at times refreshing!
The end is touching I can relate a hundred percent, sometimes when you are really drunk the alcohol makes you see thing that aren't there, sometimes those things scare the shit out of you. I don't know if the end reflects relief when he realizes that the thing coming towards him is his cat, or disappointment because he is so donde with life that he rather see monsters than real things.
Depiction of life in a sort of devoid of meaning to be deserved of living. We are trapped in it like some be fooled Thanks for sharing.
Old yellow notebook- - He was writing from his bed- - - -Perhaps he was disillusioned with life, Perhaps feeling unwanted.Writing was the only escape route, He was drunk in poetry.
Great poem...I love it.
I've spent some time at Santa Anita Park. Watched my niece's graduation ceremony there. Placed a few bets. I hate horse races. Drive past it everyday for work and going to the mall. It's a beautiful place with a beautiful view of Mt. Wilson.
Anyone else think he thought death was coming for him and got excited only to be dissapointed it was his cat?
I f we stood side by side- -in a picture you would swear They are brothers Allan James Saywell Warm regards AJS
He makes the mundane and boring dark and beautiful, like the flight pattern of a wasp. My favorite poet for many years. RIP Buk.
Oh man, you have me described!
last nite, i've been drinking too, seating lonely in my two-room apartment in downtown Nantes, France, until something walked across my floor... it was no cat for I don't want to look like a secluded old chap, I dont want to be weakened by such warm entity, i'd rather to to hell with sheer madness in my soul and mind... anyway, something came across my floor... and it was a spider... this I can deal with, I said to myself.* *
something is walking across the floor toward me. oh, it's just my cat this time. the ending it gave me a laugh... I didn't expect that....excellent write .......and an awesome poem! ! !
Not his best... Rather dull and border-line shallow. I prefer other works of his.
Bukowski knew and expressed the heavy part of life as well as anyone could. This poem is a picture, some will see its meaning, and some will not. Either way it goes to a deeper place, and speaks honestly.
Yes I am drinking: Check this out: Drunken Sonnet When in my lowest stock of wine and praise I just content myself with this cheap beer And wish in some hotel I with my raise In yuletide, enjoying a good cheer; But most I get from work that I contend, Is reprimand from bossy chief and staff, And scorn from lady love whom I pretend, To have, when all I get from her is chaff; And thinking of this love, this love of fools, That no angel finds worthy of a cent, Spit out, might I, in any of my drools, And wonder how my glossy life have went; .... Seeing your face, and hearing your tirade, .... I might with bandits give my life to trade.
Wow, he is just incredible, such simplicity comes through him when he expresses his emotion, simplicity and play with the words, his whole state of being, yet the heaviness he carries with him you can feel to the bone. He is brilliant. I love his work. Rest in peace Charles Burkowski. Thank you for sharing your amazing talent and your life.. [3