Beerspit Night and Cursing

by Charles Bukowski

  may all the gords and gods

  tinkle things goosegigberry gophers

  be urs,

  whatever that means,

  Charles Bukowski

  Charles

  ps—Sherman phoned last night (I haven’t mailed this yet) at 2 a.m., drunk, collect. I have unlisted fone but gave him my number. “I saw Sheri. She’s all right, you know that? Sheri’s all right. Met her husband too. Real nice guy. Saw your poem in Quicksilver, the one about the doves, man. Great, real great. ‘I’ll have them in the pan by 2:30.’ Don’t worry about the call. I’ll pay you. I’m coming down there, I’m going to win on the horses, will dump it all in your lap. Stan’s coming down. I’ll be down the 16th. Don’t clean the place up. Leave the bottles, the rats, you on the bed smoking, sheets of paper all over. Jesus, I can’t write, I can’t write at all. Saw Hitchcock, I said, ‘How ya doin’ you son of a bitch?’ Saw x of Grove Press, he asked to see my work. ‘What you want’ I asked, ‘the published or unpublished?’ ‘Both’, he said, ‘both.’ Saw—etc., etc.”

  Sherman quite a boy, that. going out to mail this. hope you got the Payne correspondence by now. c.b.

  6/july/60 s.m. 15 lynch st. to buk/

  ah zay Buk/ dozzzz zum letter…ah got this a.m.—met mailman out on street very early doing laundry & rec. yr letter to decode while machine went swhoos

  1st a note on Jory Sherman:

  young girl at bar in Bagel Shop wearing sleezy thin peek-a-boo black whorey dress, drunk…so drunk as she got up to leave her little pink hands cd hardly hold her up…they kept groping for bar like blind things…poor girl…her heels were run-down in back & her shoes were suede & she’d been out on “Neurotic Park” beach with some filthy dirty sluts of drunken men…she looked like a whore in dress & shape & mussed hair & drunkenness…all but for her poor face…too young…too blind…too bewildered…she made me sick I cd hardly keep from fainting dead away…at her tragedy…I mean Dusty yevsky…but not for me…I cannot bear the pain…and her coat was half off her plumb pink shoulders peeking through that whore’s cheap filmy black sheer dress…and Jory was sitting on the edge of the piano with his sneakered feet up on the chair…talking about Bukowski…& I called his attention to the lost girl…and some drunk came in for her & her pocketbook to take her to a car…& that was when I saw her lost hands blindly groping for a spot to guide herself by…and Jory…as tho’ it were Mrs. Pound herself…got up…still talking over his shoulder…about Buk…& naturally oh very naturally…the way Ezra in St. Liz used to be talking about Ovid or Dante…or Homer…or even Roosevelt or Churchill…wd keep talking & go over to the large tree & piss up against it…still talking about poetry or politics or art…so Jory…kept talking about Buk & he helped the poor drunken girl…on with her little coat…& she was led…out to a car where she got in…to torment my mind…

  now…but Jory’s a gentleman…naturally…not trying to “fool” buk…of course we are all in hell…but there is an extenuating circumstance…for Sheri hath “seen a vision”…yr story about the portfolio…is a hilaritas…but sad too…that is way of the hilaritas…to construct itself on tragedy…like a crystal forms…all right if Buk wants to go on record “listing my ills, snakebite-carnaval, thistle, dilucidate…” then Buk will do so…& Sheri will keep the records straight

  I didn’t really believe I cd lure the wary solitary fierce gloaming creature inhabiting Buk’s psyche…to EVER send anything up to Pearson at Yale but one must honourable say that such a collection exists…glare as ye will O Buk’s Psyche—ah will juz go on…tryin’ to fo’m a na’n’l mind…like a great mud pie…please Cous’ dont piss on my mud pie…dont understand large words…“gimbals & rooks distorting polysyndeton” wot iz? knew Pollack when was in Heyter’s Atalier de Set or how hellspell…(etching & engraving…& P. kept appointments at round table…very very drunk & very very well mannered…as the yg awt student recalls)

  You have green eyes…gramps will rage with jealousy…he was to date the ONLY green oyed boet…in eggsistence (his spelling)

  yew iz at th’ top right now—Buk…if I come down there…ah will convince you…and also…ah will attempt to get you to fo’m a na’n’l mind with me…somehow ’r other…

  oh yew spellin’ is worsen gramps if such be possible…his’n worse/n yr’n.

  Yes/ we are in “hell” & gramps said: “ya’ kant git outta hell innna hurrrry”…let us try to remain here as long as possible…just to fool the demons.

  that wild description of new orleans…yes…I understand “I mention things sometimes through nerves & flow of word not entirely felt by socket & shekinah of self” but wot iz “shekinah” wot? wot? iz “shekinah”? all right Fry redeemed by Buk…“not agin’ Pound but against me…” but she is still incorrect…because men like you…who can feel…are precisely what the Cosmos is trying to destroy…hence yr anguish…Fry’s duty to stand inbetween Buk & Cosmos…the petals of the flower fall off when the time comes…nature destroys her perfections so mankind may never imitate them…she leaves no examples…ezra might as well wail on the wailing wall…for the knights temp. to return…as to wail for Jeff & Adams…the time that was…is now legendary…and a new time come down on us…New India…give it 500 years…

  as for “nymphos”…they do not exist—the animal is not made that way…it is a dream of a difference…at any degree…to make up for lack of a natural talent…one has heard enough about poor ol’ Fry to know she is tryin’ too hard…and the coloured boys in the jailhouse who got time to wig it out say: “man, dont try…if ya haffa try…”

  Do forgive…one has no right to be speaking about a female one dont know…but one does know the female pattern…it is rumoured she is trying to hook my dear friend David R. Wang…to him…she wd be a lost…sad…creature…the Chinese worship propriety…the “Puritans” were the BEST ballin’ people this country has yet seen…all else is based on their hot natures…toned down by prot.rel….gawd…if they hadn’t been christers…we’d have built an eastern empire…Fry is way off…anyhow…the introduction of sex habits since the w.w.1 from france…brought home by the farm pop….is indication of lack of both love AND sex…and mere friction taking over…poor Fry…she had to be so “hip” she went through the telescope & fell out on what you’d call the square end…oh do forgive…this broad…is being too daring right now…sorry Couz…but maybe…cd help…to see from female point of view…iz all right to “read a female ass…” not cruel…my dear Buk…you haven’t spoken an UNtruth yet…& only that wd be cruel…women get their message through their psyche…but I grant they do wag their butts now ’n then when they aint certain of their psyches…I have even been caught doing it…in a loose moment…& place

  dear Buk/ this is YOUR life—dammit…if you want to write a poem sitting on a woman sitting in a chair reading the funnypapers…then DO it…just do it because another woman will come along & she’ll want to read poetry…we always work now & live now…for what going to jump off but we aint aware as yet…

  it DOES COHERE—it does…it does…it does…yes yew iz part of E.P. & yes I have “lived” & still am…and he read me Dante, Villon, Guido, the Kuan Tzu, the Sacred Edicts, Ovid…& lots of other things…& seduced me whilsts he read…sweet Gramps…Charles you are so violent you terrify me…“one sheet in closet…alone” you are most sad person…well…Lamb…you are becoming a legendary figure with the yg poets…sittin in yr bassilica…or howhellspell…yesssss I kno’ I zound like a ruddy “repu. conv…” but dammit…ah has mah gig…man & I know…that a na’n’l mind wd save us all a lot of time & anyhow…the thought of New India & what they will prob. do to the gold-skinned chicks in the next 400 years…hurts my soul…I got to do something or I shall also…be facing empty beer cans…or worse…Charles…you do not know how tender most of the females are…even dear Ol’ Fry has a tender spot I’m sure…I cannot sit here & forget that they are asking me…from the future to guarantee them a spot…a job to do, something to hold onto…like
no one gave us…I will get through to my rep. con. nat. mind…the idea of the female…Buk…you just got to put up with it…because gramps says ah iz never wrong even…when ah aint wrong ah iz right…all right you take over “where gramps left off” because any form given to me will be passed on to the tender females of the New India of the next 2000 years & they will adore you Buk & wish themselves back into the past to pick up yr beer cans & remove some of the “bang bang bang” violence from thy heart…yr harem…Sheri’s New Indians…“and the republican convention national mind” oh gawd…but dammit Buk…WHEN U ARE THE LIGHT IT IS NATURALLY DARK ALL AROUND YOU…BUT THAT DON’T MEAN YEW IZ IN “THE DARK…” IT IS MILES WITH HIS RUDDY ZUNZHINE THAT IS IN THE DARK…YEW IZ IN THE LIGHT…or at least yew iz a light bulb…that the cosmic electricity is burning up at a terrible speed…“bang bang bang” (a shoot-um-up) of course…it will all be lost…my dear Buk…that’s the fun of it…to do it anyhow…you are talking to a Tree that knows her leaves will fall & vanish into dirt…but the pattern remains…“the dream remains”…

  the IDEAS we are having via letter…is what my New Indians will cherish…I ask you to love them as I do…because they will be getting their little poor hands chopped off for stealing bread…whereas…you & I…have to now…been enjoying a freedom they will not know…please help me love the phantom children…now & then I see a pair of green eyes in a gold face…so absolutely…not…Buk…I iz aint gonna let nobody die…while I am the Queen of the Beats…I am seated upon the right hand side of the high Prince of the Innermost Hell & far from my Paradise…& I do know…but right under his lousy nose…I’m not gonna let anybody die…& where they will send me from here…for this crime…oh I donno…donno…I am eating my pomegrante seeds & spittin’ them in his chops…do not reveal my position or all’s lost…lost…lost…that is why I cuss’s Miles…he wanted to broadcast my position…

  Heaven & Hell are split second next to one another…in one sentence it is possible to live in both…but what is not possible…is to remain in one or the other…for longer than that split second…donno why…

  all right “no spartan rules” for Buk to shoot down…but must “discipline spirit” or my matter will go plumb to hell…in the earthly sense…I mean I will fall apart…man I am a New York City chick…& I go to hell real easy…alls ya gotta say is boo…& there I am…on the street…Bad Street havin a ball…“a Street Princess”—

  god help the rooohoooshuns when they taste american whiskey…it will eat holes in their national mind…

  dear Buk…I mean “education” the way gramps meant it…he had one hand on my breasts & one eye on me…& one hand on Ovid’s Metamorph & one eye on th’ book & his mouth on mine…dear Educational Gramps.

  now we to Jory in yr letter/

  yes you are entirely correct—yes gramps said: “i didn’t breed until I was over 40” real artist…yes…do not let them trap you…an artist is the father the mother the wife the husband the child…don’t let them accept less…make them take all or nothing…baby…you are right…right…Fry is a sentimental trapp’rrrr…yes what you say about Jory is correct…he will have his “back alley fights & lock himself in a cellar for 6 months”…they always take a person like Jory & stick him out front & let his beautiful sincerity…represent…then…he will have a time to “walk on thin ice & face tigers”

  he will be dreadfully hurt—I wont let him down…because I saw him help that girl on with her coat…as tho’ she were a lady…he’ll get hurt…Chester Anderson was hurt…& he did it to himself…stealing the money & running off to NYC…such a silly cheap trick…only the office boy runs off when the safe is left open…chester now has ruined his reputation…stealing that loot…Jory wdn’t do that…but it will be some other thing…Jory is being placed out front…as a m.c. & so forth & he is so innocent & a very good person…well…some of us are artists & we die the death of an artist…and some of us…do not…no body knows until it is too late & all over…

  but you still shdn’t juice that much Buk…dammit all…you republican convention national mind you…you educational…spartan rul’d disciplined spirit you…hand that beer over…doan yew ever let me catch yew doin’ that agin…but stand by…when sweet Jory crosses the Jordan…because I predict it…only his “back alley” will be the psychic fight…& the wonder why…they no longer love me…style…and that is a hard bit to do…

  Jory is not “so worldly” my lamb…he is so UNworldly…that is why he has been stuck out front…we are the worldly ones who know enough to stay home & do our work…no matter what kind of fuel we tank up on…yes I know…but Jory is a blessing whenever I go over to N. Beach for a small kickin’ ball…Jory is always there ready to shield me…& because he’s being used nobody dares stop him from his love Sheri…sweetness.

  when first we met…Jory didn’t know how to “see” me & of course there were too many people in this 1 room house…but one has had opportunity to speak alone with him & it was cool/

  4/30 is a bad hour & one usually does smoke or drink at that hr…if one is an american…there is nothing here to do except make money & that is tabu except for the newly arrived…because we aint got none to begin with…

  Had to go fight with my neighbors for a while…then fell asleep sort of now returned/

  yes—paintings…have you ever seen the book gramps made for the awtis in italy? the La Martinelli book…give you some idee of what Jory sees in them…

  a bar downstairs…how great—that is how one lived in wash., d.c. over in georgetown…at Julies…on M St by the Key Bridge…Jory drunk? that’s not good…he is too young to be drinking…altho’ I think his Wop blood will stand him in good stead…I think Jory told me he’s half Italian & he has an Italian beauty…plus something else…cd be germanic…something very straight & fine…& keen…donno…maybe Hinglish…Jory american…all right…I guess he foned you after the poetry reading I spoke about in last letter…Everyone else call her “hey Martinelli” or “La Martinelli” but Jory…he just says…in roomful people…“Sheri…please stay…I want to read some Bukowski to you…” and flips them all out…

  Sheri stayed…Jory…when he feels…feels very deeply…& he thinks Buk is TOP…but Buk…he is the Light…he thinks it is all dark where he is…It is all a Star of King Solomon…if you fall to the bottom of one pyramid that lands you upon the top of the other pyramid…you just cant be bottom anywhere without being top…and middle…is never where we are…

  Jory’s conversation…dear Buk…see it how it is…he is surrounded by people who teach him those things are important…but he worships you…believe me…I have seen his dark eyes talking about you—his fine clear unwavering look…that Jory is a good boy…yes got Payne correspondence…& answered…

  now is time…to cook dinner…the day is gone now…it never did have any of Miles wretched sun in it…just a fine misty typical s.f. summer daye…Listen GreenEyes…be cool in that pad of yrs…it sound deeelightful…except the rats…there aren’t really any rats…iz they? no!

  now I go & will mail this on way out tonight…is there anything in S.F. you need/want—will do if I can/ yr father really hang the Van Gogh show? must be ‘big shot’ type paw…to do that…who you really my dear Buk? cous? oh if you cd form that fire in you man/

  mid august 1960, Sunday nite—

  no, it is July

  my v.d. Sheri M.:

  sick today, but yr good letter n she ri cantos & rochmony on piano no radio, sun coming in upon me warm and quiet, I have climbed preety much out now. a fool running into teeth lately and it is good to have the lapse…I was drunk last night and started letter to Sheri M. but blacked out:

  “am wrkin on ’t cantos of She Ri’ n a vorce c, this is no small thing, and I will take mi ti em ane comment, perhaps not pleasantly, tho wee shall sea, and I am laffing butt yew don mine rite?

  I don know Rochardsun per se and wat but a course reelize eeeyes that he is bing bothered by bing black

  and this wl
rks the poletry springs i n his head gaid god

  but altho this all proper and contrempt

  we have dumped so mu ch anogony

  that we are dulled with screaming.

  fr4arligent started with bookshit and we end t is way, Richar son yun gargle, stay in love with yr husband avoid bolws readhesces eat heathead, give up except as central source which is wat hus Poli liPo iz for.

  ferrygnti sud hav scfewed horse and both wd haved had pictures of Eararaza without fireman chopping down gatherroom.

  z, sherman ok bdcaause he nose u mee

  tell Po Li to relax, I am not going to dtink r his gearbeer or anything else, I am stronger than tht. I respt god tha woen make gut I bee g damned if I am not nothing.

  gv Jricharsona v brk.

  poli mezzoslant ok.

  Rkcih a course fooled Sherman and u

  don worry, stlps won ar a time.”

  good thing I passed out, Sheri

  Richardson no roturier but sometimes rotters easier to take because u already have map on them. good god, a child should have and would have realized that She Ri was not meant to be hamstrung across the ceiling and what was he DOING reading a dedication to HIMSELF? this is still basically bad taste, no change here, and to linger and dawdle and simper-taste praise of self, telling to audience, is end of all sickness and even the forgiving angels must have heaved but the devil held his red belly and laughed and gave Martinelli the hot pitchfork prongs and everybody but Richardson knowing what is happening. don’t make enemies, simply reajust your sights.