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Wednesday, December 26, 2018

New Release: John D Robinson & Joseph Ridgwell The Lost Future In A Pair Of Blue Eyes (Holy & Intoxicated Publications, 2018) 30 pages


This is the latest Holy & Intoxicated publication by UK poet John D Robinson. It combines his poetry with that of the London writer Joe Ridgwell. The title derives from Ridgwell’s poem The Lost Future In A Pair Of Blue Eyes in which he describes in mythic terms the arrival of a son.


The chapbook opens with a series of twenty interlocking vignettes by Joseph Ridgwell in which he poetically documents the rise and fall and the aftermath of a relationship with “Anais”. Asked recently as to whether his work was based on real events, Joe candidly replied, “As always, all my stuff is based on real events. I’m just not good at making shit up, ahahhah. Yeah Anais is an alias. Those poems focus on my relationship with the poet and novelist J, who is the mother of my child. We split a few years back, and some years needed to pass before I could write about that period of my life. The poems came as and when, some are new, some written a few years back.”

For the record, some earlier versions of Ridgwell’s poems originally appeared in Load the Guns: Blackheath Books 2009; A Child of the Jago: Kilog Press 2010 and Fire Island Pig Ear Press 2012.

In his contribution to The Lost Future In A Pair Of Blue Eyes, Ridgwell explores love in its many guises including; love at first sight (“When I Saw Her”), the exhilaration of young love (“On Waterloo Bridge” and “Angel Visions”), the stirrings of romance (“More Beautiful than the Night” and “Looking out over the Harbour of San Vicente”), desire (“Anais”), sexual love (“The Canal”), raging jealousy (“End of the Affair”), the birth of a child (“Miracle on Lordship Lane”), the attempts at reconciliation (“Scotland or No”), the disillusionment that comes with the collapse of love (“Days of Wine and Roses”), and interestingly, the will of the poet to pick himself up from the wreckage of his relationship and to start contemplating  a new beginning (“Fare Thee Well”).

The writing is first person free verse, sensuous, layered and full of strikingly original images. Interestingly, Ridgwell often uses pathetic fallacy, favoured by the Romanic poets, in drawing parallels between how he feels and occurrences in the cosmos.

Here are two of Ridgwell’s poems from the chapbook. They will give you a clearer idea of his writing style and choice of subject matter:

Angel Visions

That damned night in old Soho
The French House, the Wheatsheaf and the Coach
Boozy underground poetry and Ouija
Which we escaped from
And fled across London Bridge
To Peckham’s nocturnal delights
South o the river
There we stopped in the Vale
For more drinks
And possessing a devil attitude
In the devil town
On the swayed walk home
We held each other tight to ward off demons and Ju-Ju
Until I pushed you inside the open gate of St John the Evangelist
Up against a thorny bush
Unsteady footing
And there under the gleam of a streetlamp
William Blake’s vision of angels
Shining down, down, down
And everything spun madly
And in the trees above, a heavenly host
Not seen round those sides
Or in Rye Lane
Since 1757.

Strange Day

Walking to Black Rocks from Crow Island
Thinking about the future
Or what remains of a life
Lived weirdly
On a crystal day
With the tide at its ebb
Is an otherworldly experience
Like walking on the surface of the moon
The sunlight so bright
Glaring
Burning away the remains of a sea haar
Distant people appear as if walking on air
The rocks themselves floating and swirling
Levitating above earth
Endless sands
Riddled by everylasting tides
No life here
As I climb to the top
And contemplate
A relationship in tatters
A confused bairn
A future alone
Away from Crow Island
Whose streets I’ll never walk again. 

In the end, Ridgwell is resilient and reflective in describing the break down of a relationship which appeared at first full of promise: “Basically, I just wrote about that period of my life and the relationship. The relationship was complex, for many reasons, and it was tempestuous. One day I’ll meet a women, who is quiet, stable, and we’ll just get along fine with no dramas and live happily ever after. But hey, that would be boring, right?”


In John D Robinson’s contribution, he includes 14 of his latest poems, including 4 haiku. His poetry is usually first person, narrative in form and in this joint-chapbook, he continues to mine the depth of his working & underclass experiences and recollections. The writing is clear, honest and often brutally revealing. Robinson’s relationship with women (“The Scent”,“ A Key Moment” & “The Question”), his conversations with friends & relatives (“Neil And The Kitty Cat Scratch” and “The Pork Pie”), his view of himself as a poet (“Lit Talk” and especially “Lost Or Fucked-Over”) and as a man (“The Tough Guy” & “Dangerous”)- everything is spilt on the page without regret, or for any yearnings for sympathy, acceptance or success. 

In his poem No Return, Robinson is characteristically playfully ironic:


NO RETURN

Crackling from the Sunday
radio came
“Now let us pray for the
broken hearted and the lost
souls of our world,
the alcoholics and the drug
addicts, the ghosts of our
towns and cities that have
wandered far from the
path of righteousness and
now walk the roads of
sin; let us pray that the
gates of heaven open up
for our brothers and
sisters, for these wretched
spirits let us pray”
after I had finished
rolling a joint of powerful
weed I felt thankful
and good that somebody
was sparring a little time
and a prayer for me
without expecting a return.

In Lost Or Fucked-Over, perhaps Robinson’s most powerful poem to date, he moves from his feelings as an artist to how he perceives how he & most of us are fucked over by the system. Robinson’s anger is genuine, how us ordinary folk, whether we want it or not, are “caught-up in a/ fucked-up way of/ living, the bullshit of/ ambition, money,/ property and power”:

LOST OR FUCKED-OVER

I don’t feel like a poet,
I’ve never felt like a poet,
I don’t know how that must
feel like,
most of the time I feel lost
or fucked-over, I feel
cheated and robbed,
maybe that’s how a poet
should feel,
I’m guessing most people
feel this way,
I don’t feel like a poet,
mostly I feel like an
asshole caught-up in a 
fucked-up way of
living, the bullshit of
ambition, money,
property and power,
no one mentions
freedom these days;
I don’t feel like a poet
but an old man who still,
every morning,
awakes in temporary 
awe that I’ve made it and
will have
another chance of
kicking the faces of the
faceless as they take
another day from me. 

The Lost Future In A Pair Of Blue Eyes is a highly engaging and worthwhile book to read and written by two of the best writers in the alternative small press in the UK. The front cover is designed by the indefatigable efforts of the genius that is the Swedish artist Janne Karlsson. 

Order signed copies direct from John D Robinson- send £10 via PayPal to: johndrobinson@yahoo.co.uk

Featuring Colin James


                     WHEN THE LOUNGE LIZARD AD LIBS 



                      Of course we were sitting in
                      the back and witnessed nothing
                      other than the usual head-bobbing.
                      A murmur of silence interrupted
                      and someone blocked the exits.
                      I can't remember much else,
                      a few empty trays of crackers,
                      cheese, I believe there was one
                      apparently larger than life.
                      Unapologetic, held up, arrestingly
                      dutiful. I must have just missed.
                      My duties were mostly outlined in grey
                      a list of could-beisums long
                      including every variant twice
                      or words to live modestly by like
                      don't be a liability to your own space,
                      take it up then wander off.
                      The excluded don't always leave early
                      their attention spans are just shorter.
                      I had folded my coat neatly
                      not knowing where learned,
                      probably a coat folding seminar.
                      Older over achievers again in the back      
                      the ultimate Protestants.
                      Could have been a time killing seminar.
                      If I recall, the wallpaper was astonishing.
                      Gratitude almost in the air
                      then the food emanated
                      or seemed to butt in, appear.




                     
         THE INDIFFUSIBLE CACOPHONY OF STAID INTERACTIONS



                                 The only passable lane between
                                 two cemeteries,
                                 catholic and protestant,
                                 is littered with unread fliers.
                                 Wouldn't wipe their arse with them,
                                 producing an uncomfortable 
                                 feeling for the rest of the day.
                                 A pile of colorful clothes
                                 that wasn't here yesterday.
                                 I heard a sound of footsteps
                                 like someone running away,
                                 then contrasted discarded appliances.
                                 Dishwashers, fused dryers, left by
                                 these modern disposal experts.
                                 Wistful practitioners of the faith. 




                           ORATORIES THROUGH A WOMB WALL


                         
                          Our hero of the two haircuts
                          one quite puffy on top, the other
                          halfway down the back
                          is prone to goodly Afro pride.
                          Not your Archie or Betty this
                          that's running as fast as can
                          pursued by unpromising paralytics 
                          their uniforms precise and prohibitive.
                          The stench of prosperity, poison
                          tipped spears cha cha cha the air.
                          Origins like formalism throughout.




                             THE ALIGNMENT OF AN ALTRUIST 


                           
                            Standing awkwardly at the Tumorous Pump,                          
                            I was considering my options when
                            a figure approached from my blind side,
                            which is about ninety percent of all reality. 
                            A young man dressed somewhat less than casually
                            insisted I subsidize his present needs.
                            He suddenly paused in his dialog
                            to thoroughly smell the air.
                            His eyes receded, a look of despair traveled
                            the extent of his red blotched face.
                            "You shite! he uttered, thereby
                            disappearing into some overhanging bushes.
                            I was not immediately tempted to join him merely 
                            resumed my quest of ambivalent indifference.




Bio: Colin James has a book of poems, Resisting Probability from 
Sagging Meniscus Press: 
He lives in Massachusetts.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Book Review/ Interview: The Asylum Floor #2: Literature With A Sledgehammer (2018) 110 pages


This is the latest edition of the literary journal edited by Brenton Booth. It features the poems, short stories and illustrations of alterative small press icons such as Wolfgang Carstens, Victor Clevenger, Ryan Quinn Flanagan & many others, as well as the poetry, sketches and cover art of the late great Jack Micheline.

Standouts in the anthology include Matt Borczon’s post- Afghani PTSD poem, “Everything Is Just Because It Is”, Dave Roskos’s dry wit in “Analogue”, Clevenger’s poems “Forced Sober” & “She Had Never Tried Wine”, Janne Karlsson’s mad but profound scribbles and Wolfgang Carstens’ short story “The Human Zoo”.


Yesterday, I asked Brenton a few questions about his involvement in this project: 

INTERVIEW WITH BRENTON BOOTH 4 December 2018

What was your overall idea for the book?

As a writer I am constantly aware through my personal submission process and reading modern lit mags of the 'no go' zones for publishing. Writing that says a lot, writing that challenges, writing that purposely seeks to disgust, writing that aims for more than words on a page, writing as a reward in itself, writing to live. The purpose of The Asylum Floor is to give a platform where good writers can express themselves without the censorship of publishing. The Asylum Floor is also about promoting each writers work as best I can. Each issue I purchase over 100 copies that are distributed internationally through the contributors in their local areas to get every ones’ words read by as many people possible. It comes at a cost, but I believe in every writer I publish and the importance of good writing, and that is far greater than money. 

What do you mean by the phrase "Literature with a sledgehammer?"

It is a homage to Friedrich Nietzsche who has had a big influence on me as an artist. It is also the theme of the journal. The Asylum Floor isn't about subtlety; it is about making a statement: preferably a violent one! 

How did you go about selecting the writers and sequencing their order in the book?

I read a lot of lit mags and the writers I admire and think are suitable I contact. Obviously there are still many I haven't published yet. But if I continue with the journal I eventually will. There are also great writers that I like that simply aren't right for the journal. Just because I don't publish someone doesn't mean I don't like their writing, I am no judge of good or bad writing: no one is. I simply publish what I think is right for the journal. I have been pretty fortunate so far. Everyone but one person has accepted my offer to contribute. And they have all sent some fine work my way. Once I accept the work for the issue. I read over it all many times. And put a lot of thought into the best order. My idea is to get a nice journey for the reader rather than just arranging it alphabetically. I hope I achieve this. 

How did you find the editing process?

I enjoy it. I get to work with great writers I admire. And see really good work. Some writers I specifically ask for certain things from. For example, from Catfish McDaris I requested nonfiction on artists. He contributed great pieces on Van Gogh and Dali. Other writers I have requested specific pieces I had previously seen and thought would work. Though the majority of the work in The Asylum Floor is previously unpublished. Getting the right material and putting it together is a lot of work, but also very rewarding.

How did you obtain material from the Jack Micheline Foundation?

I originally asked contributor Catfish McDaris if he could write a nonfiction on his relationship with friend Jack Micheline and the publishing of their chapbook "Prying", which also included Micheline's friend Charles Bukowski. Catfish wasn't able to but recommended the amazing Micheline poem "It Is Not Here On Earth What I Am Seeking" and recommended I contact Jack Micheline's son (a friend of his) to get permission to use it. I did and he was fantastic. He gave me permission to publish the poem and also sent me several of Micheline's paintings to use for the cover image and in the journal. He was very generous. And I am honoured to publish his father’s great work. 

Will there be a #3?

Not sure yet. Good chance though. 


Brenton Booth is a Sydney, Australia writer. His upcoming book Bash the Keys Until They Scream will be published by Epic Rites Press in January 2019.

Thursday, November 29, 2018

Latest Holy&intoxicated Publications releases


Here is a message from my mate John D Robinson in the UK:

The Latest publication from Holy&intoxicated Publications is the chapbook 'scream before they kill your poetry' by Pete Donohue: a UK poet: his 2nd collection. His previous publication was the chapbook 'Tommy Two Guns' Analog Submission Press, UK. Pete is active in the local poetry scene in Hastings on the south coast. He is MC for regular poetry readings and is a literary editor of the 'Hastings Independent Press' free newspaper:

and here is the title poem:

scream

there may
have been one
when i slipped
shriveled & wet
from the uterus
into this
dangerous world
how would i
remember
i do recall
however
later screams
of sibling births
& family frustrations
unable to distinguish
between
those of joy
of surprise
of rebellion
of downright terror
or exclamations
in delight
in frustration
in alarm
in fear of violence
& its aftermath
of pain
& perhaps
a drug comedown
or a eureka
moment
or a vocal
orgasm
maybe
the discovery
of a body
dead
or nearly so
& the incubus
of night sweats
that chokes
all utterances
yet can never
pacify them
until we
slip back
through that
interconnecting
channel
between
the difficulty
of birth
& the ease
of death
to realise
life
is but a scream
until
we know
true
silence.
  

 Also forthcoming is a chapbook from Holy&intoxicated Publications 'The Lost Future In A Pair Of Blue Eyes' Joseph Ridgwell & John D Robinson: Publication date is 15th December 2019: this book will also come with a separate piece of signed short fiction from Joseph Ridgwell and a signed collage by John D Robinson.

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Book Review: Caesar Campbell (with Donna Campbell) The OUTLAW and the HITMAN. Pan Macmillan, Sydney, 2016) 310 pages


This is the third volume of Caesar Campbell’s auto-biography about his exploits as an outlaw biker and follows his highly readable earlier books Enforcer (2010) and Wrecking Crew (2011). Campbell writes about his early life as a biker in far greater detail, particularly his experiences in his first outlaw club, the Gladiators formed in 1965, and his days as a debt collector in Kings Cross. The writing is intimate, compellingly clear but often gritty & explicit in detail.

In the Prologue, Caesar tells us that in late 2014, aged 69, he is shot in the hip by a Middle Eastern bloke in the Auburn RSL car park. About a month later the wound becomes infected and he falls into a septic coma for nine days but he luckily recovers. Waking up in a hospital bed, he decides to write down more of his adventures, “As I come into consciousness at Canberra Hospital over the next few weeks, I know I’ve got to get more of the stories down and I figure I might as well raise a few ghosts from Kings Cross while I’m at it.” To provide himself with some creative licence and so as not to incriminate himself or others, he says slyly, “Ninety-seven per cent of the story I’m about to tell is fact. The other three per cent has been fudged. You can figure out why.”

The title of the book The Outlaw and the Hitman is also alluded to in the Prologue. Retired in the Snowy Mountains, Caesar sits across from an old mate, Irish and they yak about the old days when they both lived up the Cross and the hard men of the era. They bullshit on for a while and trade stories about a hitman known as The Widowmaker. Irish thinks Caesar is having him on and asks him suspiciously at one point, “But the Widowmaker did exist, didn’t he?” 

The intimate yarn based structure of the book is quickly established and at the beginning of  several chapters Campbell returns to a Cooma pub setting where he talks carefree to his retired biker mates. This clever narrative technique allows the reader to feel like a fly on the wall while the bikers talk but also enables Campbell to seamlessly transition to a higher gear where he relates to his readership the heart of the book- his outlaw bikie stories and his relationship to the hitman.

Campbell represents old-school outlaw values, he calls “warrior’s code.” In his world a man keeps his word and who settles things “by the fist- or the boot, or the chain, or the bat, or the knife” and unlike today, not by the gun. He is in the club “for the brotherhood and the fun of riding”. You never went to a man’s house to confront him. You took your bike on runs and didn’t sleep in motels like many today.


The stories are told by Caesar Campbell in a clear and exhilarating way. Campbell’s discussion of the Gladiators is deepened through his social commentary on gang life but what makes this book go full-throttle are the dozens of incidents he recollects in amusing or sometimes horrifyingly detail. 

Of obvious interest are the punch-ups with footballers, skinheads and wharfies and the wild parties on weekend runs.  As Campbell says matter-of-factly early in the book, “If you’ve got nothing else from this book, you will have noticed that I’m not afraid to tell you about my blues and about how, with some of them, I went and actively chased the blokes and belted shit out of them, and some.”

Far more interesting is Campbell’s detailed explanation of his involvement in the underground bare-knuckled fight scene from 1972, his freelance “collecting” work for the Sydney criminal Abe Saffron and his latest thoughts on Jock, the split with the Comancheros , that infamous day at Milperra in 1984, the aftermath of his prison life and his desire to be shown respect by the club.

Perhaps even more fascinating are Campbell’s lower-keyed anecdotes like the 1973 nude motorcycle run from the rock and Roll Hotel in Woolloomooloo up through the Cross and back, Campbell’s torture at the hands of the Satans Riders, how bikers earn their “red wings”, JR’s maggot salad he dished up to a heavyweight crim and the crazy story about prospect Sticks “cock-up.”

There are actually two hitmen that Campbell discusses in the book- Johnny Regal, known as JR, and later Chance, the Widowmaker. The three often meet up and have a chat. JR has the knack of making his target disappear without trace or to make their deaths look like natural causes. Chance did a bit of work for the Kiwi underground figure Terry Clarke. In the chapter “What Happens To Paedopiles” Campbell describes in gruesome detail how a wire saw is used to cut through the leg of a screaming victim. Usually when he recounts stories about the anonymous the Widowmaker, he qualifies his comments by, “Now, remember, this book is three per cent fiction and 97 per cent fact.” 


Embedded between many of the chapters is an inventive section called “Caesar’s Law” in which Campbell provides the reader with some of his hard fought wisdom. Some segments offer highly personal insights into the bloke, such as, “Beard Maintenance”, “Best Song Ever”, “Favourite Movie”, “My Hero”, “The Perfect Romantic Evening”, “My Favourite Recipe”, “The Secret Of A Happy Marriage” and “Is There A God?” While other segments reveal more of his hard-nosed bikie side: “How To Disarm A Bloke Holding A Gun To Your Head”,  “What To Do If Confronted By A Bunch Of Blokes That Want To Bash You”, “How To Train A Dog To Attack On Command”, “To Tattoo Or Not To Tattoo”, “How To Do A Sleeper Hold” and “How To Survive Being Shot.”

Despite his tough bikie persona, Campbell is essentially a family man. He says of “the Woman”- his wife, “Donna was the best thing to ever happen to me and still is. We’ve been together for 38 years now and I just thank the Lord that He gave me the honour of having this special woman in my life.” He says near the end of the book, “To this day, I still get a tingle in me balls when I see her getting changed.”

In the concluding chapter, Caesar Campbell implies that there may be four more outlaw biker books after he has died: “I’ve got hundreds of hours of tapes detailing more about the blokes up the Cross and things I’ve done. They’re 100 per cent fact, so they can’t be published until after I’m gone. It’ll take about four books to fit it all in. I remember everything. Everything Abe did, and George and Paddles, the coppers. Everything. Where the bodies are buried. Where people think bodies are buried, but they’re not. All that stuff.”

If you are new to Caesar Campbell’s writing, it makes sense to start with his first book EnforcerThe Outlaw and the Hitman in contrast, appears patchy in content, more of a scrambling together of stories, some previously touched upon, to feed on the success on his earlier work. 

If Macmillan has the balls to publish Campbell’s posthumous work, particularly if it deals with police & political corruption, uncensored murder and mayhem- I’ll be lining up to buy the fuckers!    

Saturday, November 17, 2018

BUKOWSKI'S BEST POETRY BOOKS: A reader’s appraisal after 25 years of Buk's death of collections published during his lifetime (1946-1994).


Nearing the 25thanniversary of Bukowski’s death it is a difficult task ranking Bukowski’s poetry books he wrote during his lifetime because there is so much material to read and absorb. The 11 books assessed below, for example, comprise close to 3000 pages of poetry and were written over a period of 50 years. 

So how do you go about evaluating of one book over another? 

The older poems, say before 1970, have an untamed, non-formulaic quality about them. Poem after poem emerge like a wicked, wildly delivered wagon wheel punch or a snarled, misshaped piece of glass. The language is ongoingly inventive and often includes unusual turns of phrases and word choice. The persona is less of a smart ass, know-it-all anti-hero and more of a ‘no body’, who can fucking write. 

Bukowski defends his nonliterary, innovative style in a letter to James Boyar May of Trace in response to an article by Robert Vaughan ‘Essay on the Recent History of Immortality’ which appeared in the Jan-Mar 1961 edition through an insightful summation of his craft: ‘I think sometimes the great symphonies that we have accepted today that were hissed at and walked out upon when first heard… but wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could instead of sweating out the correct image, the precise phrase, the turn of thought, simply sit down and write the god damned thing, throwing on the color and sound, shaking us alive with the force, the blackbirds, the wheat fields, the ear in the hand of the whore, sun, sun, sun, SUN!' 

He concludes the letter forcefully, raging against the straight-jacket of formal rules in poetry: ‘Let’s make poetry the way we make love; let’s make poetry and leave the laws and the rules and the morals to the churches and the politicians; let’s make poetry the way we tilt the head back for the good liquor; let a drunken bum make his flame, and some day Robert, I’ll think of you, pretty and difficult, measuring vowels and adverbs, making rules instead of poetry.’

Probably more interesting are Bukowski’s explicit comments about his writing process. He tells Corrington he simply writes his poetry, he does not know what the poems mean and he doesn’t want to know: ‘When I write the poem it is only fingers on typewriter, something smacking down. It is that moment then, the walls, the weather of that day, the toothache, the hangover, what I ate, the face I passed, maybe a night 20 years ago on a park bench, an itch on the neck, whatever, and you get the poem- maybe. I don’t know much about what you can say about these poems’. He later tells editor Robert DeMaria, ‘Of course my work is not carefully worked-out and hastily written. that’s the point. I write down what I need. Poetry has long ago dulled me with its tricks and mechanics’. To John Martin, ‘You know, the writing must come out of the living, the reaction to the living. If I get a little scorched now and then, it’s all for the good of the barbecue’.)

Anyways, he is my list- it is largely intuitive and based on the accumulative effect of the heap of poems Bukowski tossed onto the pile of each of his collections:


 #11 DANGLING IN THE TOURNEFORTIA (1981) 281 pages

This poetry book is sandwiched between Burning in Water, Drowning in Frame (1974), Love Is a Dog from Hell (1977) and his later books War All the Time (1984) and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992). Dangling in the Tournefortia was published when Bukowski was fifty-nine years old and the book is a radical departure from the more complex, chaotically lyrical poems which first established Bukowski’s reputation as a poet. In his biography on Bukowski Hank(1981), Neeli Cherkovski makes clear that he considers Buk’s early work superior, “In Dangling in the TournefortiaI found Hank’s poetic style truly transformed. The new poems did not have the rhythmic proficiency that made his earlier poems so interesting…He had opted for a massive outpouring of emotions, caring little for the well shaped, hypercrafted poem.”

The collection explores many of Bukowski’s favourite themes: women (yrs., Anicawe’ve got to communicatepretty boyculturea galloon of gas are amongst the most accomplished), gambling at the racetrack (I can’t stopdo you use a notebook?) the writing process  public readings (on the hustleattack and retreata poetry reading) and observations of quirky people. He meticulously records every event, impression, memory, wild thought- no matter how trivial, inexplicable or random. Too many poems focus on domestic, ordinary experiences such as shopping, going to restaurants, cleaning his room or negotiating with his then partner Linda King.

The language in this collection is strongly pared back with few literary allusions or concentrated lyrical passages and is typically narrative in form. You get the impression, that at this stage in his career, Bukowski may be more focused on writing novels (Women,1978, Ham on Rye,1982) and short stories (Play thePiano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument,1979) than on poetry. 

My guess is that Bukowski was writing and publishing so much material at this time and struggling to cope with his rising fame that there is a complacency but also a sense of exhaustion in his work. The poem the American writersymbolically alludes to this idea. In the poem Bukowski is being interviewed overseas, presumably in Germany and he is feeling bored and makes “no attempt to be/ brilliant” during the conversation. That evening he watches himself on tv and self-satisfyingly quips:

how marvelous to be me without
trying.
it looks on tv
as if I knew exactly what I
was doing.

fooled them
again.

The poem fear and madnessalso pointedly reflects the difficulty Bukowski is experiencing in getting used to the order and cleanliness of his new St Pedro mansion. The poem ordertellingly reveals his mental exhaustion and concludes with the lines:

I look about
in all this space
this cleanliness

it’s nice
here

but I can’t
write
I can’t
Write
I CAN’T
WRITE

And I think of Lenny
Bruce’s immortal line:
I CAN’T
COME

now I sit in this
place
and
I can’t
write
and
I can’t
come
either.

A few poems like ‘we evolve’ and the Cold War ‘taking care of the whammy’ attempt to rise above the temporal but many of the poems are thinly written and unsatisfying for the seasoned Bukowski reader. 
#10 SEPTUAGENARIAN STEW Stories & Poems(1990) 375 Pages

It difficult to slot in this book because it includes 21 short stories totaling 150 pages of writing. For this ranking exercise, I am only considering the poems in this book. Like much of Bukowski’s late writing style, it is heavily pared back and largely narrative in form. Although there are a few excellent poems on relationships (postcardon the rebound) and at the racing track (the click of miraclenight quarterhorse racing Hollywood Park) the best and most interesting poems provide his latest take on his writing career at age 70- why he decided to become a writer (the burning of the dream), his life as a starving artist (my best friend), his writing manifesto (The Rape of the Holy Mother) and his budding relation with Black Sparrow Press editor John Martin (the good old machine). Bukowski is also shown to be vulnerable, battling with writer’s block (my buddy) and vowing to make a comeback (pernicious anemia) to defy the critics and show them his writing has not slipped.  

Towards the end of the book Bukowski includes a few “old man poems” which he had 15 years earlier vowed he would never write, and more importantly, five poems in which the poet acknowledges that death is near (the last drinkcelebrating thisswift and slow) and he is ready for it (tired in the afterdeck).


 #9 The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems 1946-1966 (1988) 256 pages

This book was published in1988 and collects 139 Bukowski poems he considered to be the best of his early poems, some of which first appeared in his earliest books and most in long defunct, obscure magazines. Bukowski writes in his October 1987 Forewardto the book: “The poems were sent out as written on first impulse, no line or word changes. I never revised or retyped. To eliminate an error, I would simply go over it thus: #########, and go on with the line.”

Interestingly, Bukowski provides an assessment of his poems: “The early poems are more lyrical than where I am now. I like these poems but I disagree with some who claim, ‘Bukowski’s early work was much better.’ Some have made these claims in critical reviews, others in parlors of gossip. Now the reader can make his own judgment, first hand. In my present poetry, I go at matters more directly, land on them and then get out. I don’t believe my early methods and my late methods are either inferior or superior to one another. They are different, that’s all.”

In his Authors Introductionin his anthology BURNING IN WATER DROWNING IN FLAME (1978) Bukowski clearly states “for my critics, readers, friends, enemies, ex-lovers and new lovers, the present volume along with The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hillsand Mockingbird Wish Me Luckcontain what I like to consider my best work written over the past nineteen years. Burning includes selections from his early books It Catches My Heart in Its Hands(1963), Crucifix in a Deathhand(1965), At Terror Street and Agony Way(1968), together with his new poems (1972-1973) in the section Burning In Water, Drowning In Flame. Interestingly, towards the end of his IntroductionBukowski writes, “Looking at these poems written between 1955 and 1973 I like (for one reason or another) the last poems best.”

The Roominghouse Madrigalswas published by Bukowski in his late 60s. It includes poems from a wide variety of sources, including all of his early chapbooks and dozens of previously uncollected and unpublished poems. In his ForewardBukowski acknowledges that his early out-of-print books are expensive and to appease his eager fans who want to read more of his early work he has released this book. He says of the anthology, “Re-reading these, there remains a certain fondness for that time. Coming in from the factory or warehouse, tired enough, there seemed little use for the night except to eat, sleep and then return to the menial job. But there was the typewriter waiting for me in those many old rooms with torn shades and worn rugs, the tub and toilet down the hall, and the feeling in the air of all the losers who had preceded me.” 

There are several outstanding poems in this collection, the best being The Genius of the Crowdwhich featured in the documentary film Born Into This(2003). Personal favourites also include Old Man Dead in a Roomand A Trick to Dull Our Bleeding.

Many of the previously unpublished or uncollected poems have an unfinished, rushed feel to them which is understandable considering Bukowski’s hectic working life and his limited opportunity to get the line down. Other poems are challenging to the average reader and force them to work hard to understand what Bukowski is trying to achieve. They usually are experimental in form and consist of random thoughts and associations which are dissected in raw, quirky lines. You really need to re-read many of these rambling poems to get a better jest of them. I can imagine Bukowski was out of it when he wrote many of these poems and was happy with the boisterous but chaotic result. The best amongst these, in no particular order, are An Empire of Coins,I Was Born to Hustle Roses Down the Avenues of the Dead, A Report Upon the Consumption of Myself, Farewell Foolish Objects, The Night They Took Whitey, It’s Nothing to Laugh aboutand I Write This Upon the Last Drink’s Hammer.


 #8 YOU GET SO ALONE AT TIMES THAT IT JUST MAKES SENSE(1986)313 pages

This is a consistent and well edited collection of poems in which Bukowski continues to drill into and further consolidate & mythologise the aura of his past. There are about a dozen poems about Bukowski’s early life as a starving artist, including the titular poem The Master Plan. There are also a wealth of new poems which fill in more details about his childhood, his life on skid row, his artistic influences, his evolving writing processes and his relationship with other poets, his fans and women. 

This collection is highly accessible and uses Bukowski’s pared down style and voice he first adopted in Dangling in the Tournefortia(1981). The poetry in You Get So Aloneis consistently better. Personal favourites include downtown L.A., I’m not a misogynisttermites of the page,I’ll take it…and quiet.

This book rarely gets a mention in the Bukowski canon. In the poem ‘trying to make it’ the narrator, presumably, Chinaski, notices that a new jockey from Arizona has a hard time getting a gig at the L.A. racetrack. Drawing a long bow to Bukowski’s own “tornado” of scribblings, this book, like the jockey’s aspirations, gets lost somehow. Chinaski concludes:

sometimes getting started
in the big time
is tantamount to
trying to raise an erection
in a tornado
and even if you do
nobody has the time
to notice.


 #7 THE DAYS RUN AWAY LIKE WILD HORSES OVER THE HILLS (1969)204 pages 

There are a couple of dozen excellent poems in this anthology but the overall quality is uneven. The best poems tend to be the rambling, improvisational poems such as these mad windows that taste life and cut me if I go through themand the brilliant title poem the days run away like wild horses over the hills. If you are more familiar with Bukowski’s later work, it is interesting to closely read such masterpieces as what a man I waskaakaa & other immolationshermit in the citythe screw-gameand I thought of ships, of armies, hanging on …to compare his use of style.

The poems were first published in close to fifty small press magazines as well as in some of Bukowski’s early chapbooks, including Flower, Fist and Bestial WailPoems and DrawingsLongshot Pomes for Broke Players, Run with the Hunted, Cold Dogs in the Courtyard and A Bukowski Sampler. Most of the poems were first published between 1960-1969 and according to bukowski,com’s data base, 7 perhaps 8 poems are also attributed to the 1950s & one poem as early as 1956.


 #6 PLAY THE PIANO DRUNK/ LIKE A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT/ UNTIL THE FINGERS BEGIN TO BLEED A BIT (1979) 126 pages

Apart from his early chapbooks, this anthology of poems is the slimmest volume Bukowski published during his lifetime but it contains a high proportion of gems. Many of the poems were originally published between 1970 and 1979 in small press magazines such as Blitz, The Goodly Company, Hearse, Midwest, Ontario Review, The Other, Target and Wormwood Review. These are terse, tough poems by a poet at the height of his powers.
Some of the better poems are centered around simple every day events like observing the circular flight of pesky insects in ‘2 flies’, eating a piece of fruit in ‘apple’, going for a walk during lunch in ‘the sandwich’, getting his teeth cleaned at the dentist in ‘8 rooms’ or observing people shopping in ’59 cents a pound.’ What’s interesting about these narrative poems is you are unable to predict what is going to happen. The poems start with a basic premise but with Bukowski’s incredible imagination at work and drawing from his huge repertoire of experience you never know where you will end up. 
Some of his poems about relationships, such as, 40,000 flies, dow average down, I love you, the killer smiles, fire station andI’m in love  reveal a rare vulnerability behind Bukowski’s macho façade during this period. In the poem I’m in love, the speaker’s young girl friend realizes that he has been cheating on her and she begins beating him with her thin wrists. The poem concludes:
she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all
over. she paced up and down, wild and crazy. she had
a small body. her arms were thin, very thin and when
she screamed and started beating me I held her
wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred,
centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and
sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted.
there was no living creature as foul as I
and all my poems were
false.
Few poets wrote more compellingly about writing than Bukowski, and you will find some outstanding examples in this collection. Notable are tough companyinterviewsand nothing is as effective as defeat
The anthology captures Bukowski at his experimental, imaginative best. The poems were published over a period of 10 years and incorporate many different styles, voices and subject matter. If you are fairly new to Bukowski, I recommend this is first book of poetry of his you should read!

#5 MOCKINGBIRD WISH ME LUCK 1972(159 pages)
This is a substantial anthology of Bukowski mostly written from late 1969 to 1972, although nine poems derive from the 1960s, including two from 1962 (reference bukowski.net Charles Bukowski works database for the book: https://bukowski.net/database/displayContents.php?book=55). Dozens of the poems first appeared in small press magazines such as Wormwood, Open City Press, New York Quarterly, Californian Librarian, Earth, Event, Vagabond and many others.
There are some outstanding poems which are probably considered amongst Bukowski’s best, including Mockingbirdww2and the last days of the suicide kid.Increasingly, Bukowski is writing about his life as a writer. Some fine satiric examples include the poet’s musepoetryand the garbageman.
The book is dedicated to Linda King and towards the end of the book there are a dozen or so poems which reflect their frenetic relationship, the best poems being have you ever kissed a panther?and a split.

#4 BURNING IN WATER DROWNING IN FLAME (1978) 232 pages
I have a soft spot for this anthology- it being the first book of poetry of Bukowski that I read in June 1979 while living at Maroubra Beach in a share flat. The anthology consists of four parts:
(1)It Catches My Heart in its Hands(originally published in 1963 by Ioujon Press) features 25 of the book’s 66 poems.
(2)Crucifix in a Deathhand (originally published in 1965 by Ioujon Press) features 25 of the book’s 54 poems.
(3)At Terror Street and Agony Way(originally published in 1968 by Black Sparrow Press) features 29 of the book’s 46 poems.
(4)Burning in Water, Drowning In Flameconsists of Bukowski’s latest poems written in 1972-1973.
In the last section of the anthology Bukowski includes many examples of a more pared back, narrative style which Buk is best known for and which has been imitated by 1000s of poets. The poems warm asseswet nightI can’t stay in the same room with that woman foe five minutesand hell hath no fury…are fine examples of his new style. 
In the AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTIONBukowski comments that “each of these sections brings back special memories but concludes, “Looking at these poems written between 1955 and 1973 I like (for one reason or another) the last poems best.”
 Most interesting is Bukowski’s story behind the publication of At Terror Street and Agony Way- the first book of Buk’s published by John Martin of Black Sparrow Press. Bukowski used to go to John Thomas’ place and they’d take pills and drink and Thomas would tape their conversation however oafish. Bukowski continues:
At one time during these tapings John asked that I bring over some poems and read them. I did. And left the poems there and forgot about them. The poems were thrown out with the garbage. Months passed. One day Thomas phoned me. “Those poems, Bukowski, would make a good book.” “What poems, John? He said he had taken out the tape of my poems and had listened to it again. “I’d have to type them off the tape, it’s just too much work,” I said. “I’ll type them up for you.” I agreed, and soon I had the poems back in typescript form.
Bukowski showed the poems to John Martin who had previously published some of his poems as broadsides. A few days later Martin rang him and told him, “You have a book there and I’m going to publish it myself.” 
#3 WAR ALL THE TIME POEMS 1981-1984 (Black Sparrow Press, 1984) 284 pages

This is a major collection and represents Bukowski’s second concerted attempt after Dangling in the Tournefortiato pare his language down to the bone. What you loses in lyricism he gains in telling uncluttered narratives to his audience, now largely familiar with Buk’s backstory. The best poems, to name a few, include a strange momentfrozen foot sectionbeauti-fultrucegirlsoverhead mirrorsmaking iteating my senior citizen’s dinner at the Sizzlernight on a visa cardthe wallson and off the road, Sparks and talking to my mailbox. The poems tell fascinating, credible and often enormously humorous stories which are easy to understand at first reading.

This is a solid book full of excellent poems written by Bukowski in his early 60s from the perspective of a “famous writer” at the height of his game. Bukowski covers the gamut of what he is best known for- women, the track, working class jobs, his childhood & adolescence, skid row, his struggle to become an artist & his belated fame as a writer. The writing is tight & has a spontaneous feel to it- yet sometimes you get the sense that this is a writer looking back on wild times rather than experiencing the moment. 


 #2 LOVE IS A DOG FROM HELL: Poems 1974-1977 (1977) 307 pages

This is Bukowski at his horny best. He has finally made it as a writer & is reaping the benefits- both sexually, with the revolving door of a huge variety of women & getting more of his immortal words down on the page.

The collection is structured in 4 parts:

1 one more creature/ dizzy with lovefocuses on his candid, intimate relationships with women & includes some of his more sexually explicit poems. The best poems overall are the six foot goddess,sexpotnumb your ass and brain and your heart-ashesand trying to get even.

2 me, and/ that old woman: sorrow is more of a mixed bag of work & includes many portrait poems (e.g: the insane always loved me), Bukowski’s reflections on writing (the best being how to be a great writer) & his often sardonic take on mundane daily activities, such as killing a cockroach, trying to help his girlfriend locate her car or wanting to fuck his alarm clock.

3 Scarletrepresents his torrid relationship with a young red-headed woman. The best poems include like a flower in the rain,a killerand waving and waving goodbye.

4 popular melodies/ in the last of/ your mindis diverse section which also includes many interesting portrait poems, personal anecdotes and Buk’s views on writing, such as, an unkind poemnow, if you were teaching creative writing, he asked, what would you tell them?

The title poem love is a dog from hellis a brilliant improvisational, highly associative piece that Buk probably didn’t know where the fuck it was headed but it rocks!


 #1 THE LAST NIGHT OF THE EARTH POEMS (1992) 405 pages
This collection gets the nod as Bukowski’s best poetry book published during his lifetime- but by a very slight margin. The sheer volume of the book- a massive 405 pages and the amazing depth and variety of the poems gets it over the line—just.
This is the last book of poetry that Bukowski published during his lifetime. It strengthens and furthers our understanding of the Bukowski legend. He seems to be setting the record straight as he senses his “luck is running thin.”
The poems are acutely observational and recall incidents from his lifetime of drinking, writing and womanizing. Many of the poems revisit Bukowski’s young adult life as a starving writer. The poems ‘young in New Orleans’, ‘flophouse’ and ‘spark’ are particularly brilliant in capturing Bukowski’s defiant rejection of mainstream ‘working stiff’ life and demonstrate his great resilience in developing his writing about people on the fringe. 
More interesting and subtle are his reflections on his declining health, his family and people in general as he ‘runs out of days.’ As the clock ticks down he writes and listens to Brahms and drinks wine and thinks about his cats and his wife. In ‘darkling’ he has a sleepless night and thinks of death out there ‘beyond the venetian blinds.’ In ‘confession’ as he waits for death he imagines his wife discovering his ‘stiff/ white/ body’ and feels sorry for her. 
Bukowski also sees the lighter side of growing old and of his impending death. In ‘mugged’ he wryly sums up his situation: ‘I now allow cars to pass me on the freeway./ I haven’t been in a fist fight for 15 years./ I have to get up and piss 3 times a night.’ In ‘the damnation of Buk’ he is ‘concerned that there will be nothing to/ drink in hell.’ And scarier still he is concerned that he will ‘have to listen to/ one poetry reading/ after another/ after another…’
The apocalyptic poem Dinosauria, we’ is arguably the best poem in the collection and was featured in director John Dullaghan’s film Bukowski: Born Into This (2003). http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/bukowski-born-into-this/ 
‘the bluebird’ shows a more sensitive, personal side to Bukowski’s writing. The birdbird in his heart ‘that wants to get out’ symbolises the nice guy lurking under Bukowski’s tough façade. 
This stripping back of pretense is echoed in other poems which might surprise the Bukowski novice. In ‘oh, I was a ladies’ man’ he is disgusted by his treatment of woman as a young man. He sees himself as a selfish, self satisfied ‘fucking dog.’  As ‘the walls get closer’ he attends a track meeting and watches ‘the horses run by/ and it seems/ meaningless’ (‘are you drinking?’). In a suborder of naked buds he senses the failure of language to capture the whole of what he has experienced:
I would like to make
this 
piece of paper
shriek and dance and 
laugh
but
the keys just
strike it harmlessly
and
we settle
for just a fraction of
the whole.

His growing sense of doubt humanises and broadens the reader's views on Bukowski.
The Last Night of the Earth Poemsshows Bukowski’s ongoing search and development as a mature writer. His growing sense of doubt and fear broadens and deepens our perceptions of the man and his writing. 
Conclusion

So this is my assessment. I reread Bukowski’s poetry books early in 2018 and now I send it your way. What do you reckon is Buk’s best work of poetry?