The tragedy sniffers as described by Charles Bukowski

The more I read Charles Bukowski's writings, the more I like them. He can definitely be crude, rude and abrasive. But his prose-poetry touches on some really timely and interesting themes. Like this poem, They Are Everywhere, which could describe a lot of what goes on in society at present. Why all the anger? 

They are everywhere

The tragedy-sniffers are all

about

they get up in the morning

and begin to find things

wrong

and they fling themselves

into a rage about

it,

a rage that lasts until

bedtime,

where even there

they twist in their

insomnia,

not able to rid their

mind

of the petty obstacles

they have

encountered.

They feel set against,

it’s a plot.

And by being constantly

angry they feel that

they are constantly

right.

You see them in traffic

honking wildly

at the slightest

infraction,

cursing,

spewing their

invectives.

You feel them

in lines

at banks

at supermarkets

at movies,

they are pressing

at your back

walking on your

heels,

they are impatient to

a fury.

They are everywhere

and into

everything,

these violently

unhappy

souls.

Actually they are

frightened,

never wanting to be

wrong

they lash out

incessantly 

it is a malady

an illness of

that

breed.

The first one

I saw like that

was my

father

and since then

I have seen a

thousand

fathers,

ten thousand

fathers

wasting their lives

in hatred,

tossing their lives

into the

cesspool

and

ranting

on.

Charles Bukowski

Interesting viewpoint from Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski wrote this poem about rising early versus sleeping late.....

Throwing Away the Alarm Clock

my father always said, “early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise.”

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered
the world but I’ve avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom
was
myself—someone my father
never
knew.

Two good poems by Charles Bukowski

they are everywhere

the tragedy-sniffers are all
about.
they get up in the morning
and begin to find things
wrong
and they fling themselves
into a rage about
it,
a rage that lasts until
bedtime,
where even there
they twist in their
insomnia,
not able to rid their
mind
of the petty obstacles
they have
encountered.
they feel set against,
it's a plot.
and by being constantly
angry they feel that
they are constantly
right.
you see them in traffic
honking wildly
at the slightest
infraction,
cursing,
spewing their
invectives.
you feel them
in lines
at banks
at supermarkets
at movies,
they are pressing
at your back
walking on your
heels,
they are impatient to
a fury.
they are everywhere
and into
everything,
these violently
unhappy
souls.
actually they are
frightened,
never wanting to be
wrong
they lash out
incessantly...
it is a malady
an illness of
that
breed.

the first one
I saw like that
was my
father
and since then
I have seen a
thousand
fathers,
ten thousand
fathers
wasting their lives
in hatred,
tossing their lives
into the
cesspool
and
ranting
on.

------------------------

poetry

it

takes

a lot of

desperation

dissatisfaction

and

disillusion

to

write

a

few

good

poems.

it's not

for

everybody

either to

write

it

or even to

read

it.

A great poem by Charles Bukowski

air and light and time and space 

”– you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create.”

no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

------------------------------------------

What a great poem, and it came along just at the right time for me. I've been feeling 'stuck'--as though I've been sitting in creative prison, waiting for the jailor (most likely myself) to come free me so that I can write, take photos and work on book projects again. I forgot that most of my creative work has in fact been done while I have been 'stuck' doing other things, like working full-time at another kind of job. So thank you Mr. Bukowski for your inspiring words--they got me out of my funk and back to work..........