Charles Bukowski's Advice to Writing Students at EMU

For some reason I can't find the poem "Poetry Readings" by Bukowski in any of the books I have.  Here it is anyway, check it out.  After you read that, you can read this poem.  I love his view on poets and poetry readings, because I find them timeless and all but too relevant to me right now in this place.  If I ever had to do a poetry reading, I promise myself now I will read Poetry Readings first.

For now, I'll put another poem I found from him, that every student I have dealt with at this school should read.  It applies to all of them; in fact it probably applies to most of the staff at this college as well.  Another poem that directly applies to my life right now.

I'm not all knowing, but...
by Charles Bukowski

one of the problems is
that when most people
sit down to write a poem
the think,
"now I am going to write a 
poem"
and then they go on to write a poem
that
sounds like a poem or what they think
a poem should sound like.

this is one of their
problems.
of course, there are other 
problems:
those writers of poems 
that sound like poems
think that they then must
go around
reading them
to other people.

this, they say, is done
for status and recognition
(they are careful
not to mention
vanity
or the need for 
instantaneous
approbation
from some
sparse, addled
crowd).

the best poems
it seems to me
are written out of
an ultimate
need.
and once the poem is
written,
the only need
after that
is to write
another.

and the silence
of the printed page
is the
best response
to a finished
work.

in decades past
I once warned
some poet-friends
of mine
about the masturbatory
nature of poetry readings
done just
for the applause of
a handful of 
idiots.

"isolate yourself and
do your work and if you
must mix, then do it
with those who
have no interest at all
in what you consider
so
important."

such anger,
such a self-righteous
response
did I receive then
from my poet-friends 
that it seemed to me
that I had exactly 
proved my 
point.


after that,
we all drifted 
apart.


and that solved just
one of my
problems
and I suppose
just one of
theirs.

The Wall

I'm hitting a wall right now.  I don't want to write anything.  Here's another old poem.

The Writer's Creed
by Matt Catania

Before I write
any words


Before I write
I must remember The Writer's Creed:

What I write right now
What I write at this moment
What I write is Perfect
at
this
very
moment

for it cannot be written any other way.


This may not be
The Greatest Poem in the History of Time.


This may not be
Perfect when you read it.


This may be
changed at a later time:


but it was Perfect at the moment it was written;
it was The Greatest Poem in its moment in time;


at
that
very
moment


for it could not be written any other way.

Emily Dickinson

We all know about Emily Dickinson.  This is with her in mind.

Like Emily 

by Matt Catania 

I too have written

my share of poems

secreted, safely

folded, finely

crackled, crumpled harshly

kept in my drawer

like Emily -

with the hope

that they will be found someday

like Emily -

hopefully before I die

like Emily

 

Oh, Cadence Delicate...

I have full faith that one day Cadence will be on tour and doing well...until then, we have had one show that I will regard as our best show so far...the one we were lucky enough to have at the Kent Stage.

Jan. 15th, 2010: Cadence Delicate Headlines the Kent Stage 

by Matt Catania 

I’m not nervous anymore.

I can’t find any sweat.

I used to sweat before I did this.

My heart used to pound out of control -

the first time we played:

I had to sit down

before I passed out.

The first time:

we played

too

fast -

I can’t remember the order we played

our songs.

Everything moved

too

fast -

This time…

I am calm.

We’re on the stage -

the same stage

Black Flag once played on:

I can’t breathe hard

or sweat if I tried.

My heart is steady:

I am calm.

We’ve practiced so many times…

so

many times…

the songs, the notes

are the skin on my fingers.

It doesn’t matter

how full

the theater is

for this show:

I am calm.

I’m ready to go.

 

A Poem After Drinking

I wrote this poem after a night of drinking.  I would like to read other people's poems after they have been drinking.  Hopefully good poems after drinking...


A Hard Drink Night
by Matt Catania

I’m slapdash piss drunk

with sweat I don’t intend to make

I’m making a lot of noise

I don’t intend to make

I feel a cold sweat pore on the small

of my neck

as it drips form on my head

forehead…

sweatin’ whatever I didn’t intend to drink.

A Christmas CD is playing

in my CD player

on the first warm day of the year.

I don’t intend to make

a scene

but I play it out

like any fool who shouldn’t

I’m louder than quiet

I’m dumbly profound

or the other way ‘round.

Nah, I’m smart.

Eyes on me – normally

It’s scary – but see

how

it’s okay

now,

‘cuz

I don’t care.  No pig

drenched in shit and mud

is as crude as I –

but shit, it me, don’t

deal go.

I don’t intend to make

a friend tonight

I’m just gonna wear

my stool at the bar.

Sure I seem sad –

come talk to me!

Please: I want you

not to.

Just do.

Become sex

I don’t intend to make

tomorrow come.

Where did the time go?

It’s now,

now now

now now,

then then

was just a dream

(it did seem).

I don’t intend to make

Tomorrow.

I’m tired.

I’m home.