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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had just won $115 from the headshakers and <br>was naked upon my bed <br>listening to an opera by one of the Italians <br>and had just gotten rid of a very loose lady <br>when there was a knock upon the wood, <br>and since the cops had just raided a month or so ago, <br>I screamed out rather on edge— <br>who the hell is it? what you want, man? <br>I’m your publisher! somebody screamed back, <br>and I hollered, I don’t have a publisher, <br>try the place next door, and he screamed back, <br>you’re Charles Bukowski, aren’t you? and I got up and <br>peeked through the iron grill to make sure it wasn’t a cop, <br>and I placed a robe upon my nakedness, <br>kicked a beercan out of the way and bade them enter, <br>an editor and a poet. <br>only one would drink a beer (the editor) <br>so I drank two for the poet and one for myself <br>and they sat there sweating and watching me <br>and I sat there trying to explain <br>that I wasn’t really a poet in the ordinary sense, <br>I told them about the stockyards and the slaughterhouse <br>and the racetracks and the conditions of some of our jails, <br>and the editor suddenly pulled five magazines out of a portfolio <br>and tossed them in between the beercans <br>and we talked about Flowers of Evil, Rimbaud, Villon, <br>and what some of the modern poets looked like: <br>J.B. May and Wolf the Hedley are very immaculate, clean fingernails, etc.; <br>I apologized for the beercans, my beard, and everything on the floor <br>and pretty soon everybody was yawning <br>and the editor suddenly stood up and I said, <br>are you leaving? <br>and then the editor and the poet were walking out the door, <br>and then I thought well hell they might not have liked <br>what they saw <br>but I’m not selling beercans and Italian opera and <br>torn stockings under the bed and dirty fingernails, <br>I’m selling rhyme and life and line, <br>and I walked over and cracked a new can of beer <br>and I looked at the five magazines with my name on the cover <br>and wondered what it meant, <br>wondered if we are writing poetry or all huddling in <br>one big tent <br>clasping assholes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354613" data-title="I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet de Charles Bukowski" data-description="I had just won $115 from the headshakers and 
was naked upon my bed 
listening to an opera by one of the Italians 
and had just gotten rid of a very loose lady 
when there was a knock upon the wood, 
and since the cops had just raided a month or s..."></div>
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