Why “Miss Bukowski”?
Charles Bukowski’s body of work largely reflects on the dark underbelly of society. His texts are drenched in sex, alcohol, emotional and physical violence; they’re all by-products of his life experiences and his own existentialist meditations. In order to fully understand the essence of his work, as well as the “why” behind such aggressive ideas, we need to get a picture of the times that raised Charles Bukowski.
Dirty Realism
// literary movement
A term coined by Bill Buford for Granta magazine in 1983, it explains why many writers in this sub-category of realism depict “the seamier or more mundane aspects of ordinary life in spare, unadorned language.” Dirty realism shows, with a detached and almost comical point of view, what the reality of our modern society looks like: life is hard, work is boring, miracles rarely happen, and no one’s coming to save you.
Grunge Literature
An extension of dirty realism
The “grunge” aspect considers literary minimalism as the base of this particular writing style. The common subjects include financial desperation, naturalism, social realism, domesticity, escapism, homelessness, etc. The underbelly of society, or the less "shiny" aspects of the world we live in. In this genre we can see subjects such as a deserted husband, a single pregnant lady, a drug addict, alcoholic, a broke blue collar worker, etc.
Bukowski's thing
Within his thousands of poems, we find a man who has lost all hope in himself and the world. He doesn't pretend to be anything more than he is, nor does he care whether or not the world accepts who he is. His dark (but sometimes humorous) voice tells the story of a man who expects nothing from life, and has learned, after taking many many punches, how to see his own defects as virtues. Bukowski was far from perfect; he was a drunk, a misogynist, a perv, a bum, and a lazy, lazy man. He’s the last person one would want to imitate. But, much like Picasso, Neruda, or any other artist whose personal life was a complete catastrophe, it is important to separate the artwork from the personal.
Bukowski’s literary style relied on experience, emotion, internal monologue, metaphors and direct language. His writing was the opposite of fluffed up; it was all bones and no meat. His strong personality dominates the tone of his work, and it’s because of this that we get such vivid pieces. His fatalism, bad attitude, unrepentant alcoholism, and the fact that he shows his own weaknesses without any fear, is what makes his writing so damn special. He never joined any of the literary waves of the time, never affiliated to any religion (he was agnostic), and never identified with anything outside of his own “self.” When you read Bukowski, it feels like you just sat on a stool at a bar and started a conversation with the man sitting next to you. There’s no pretentiousness, no faking it, no nothing. You get what you get, and that’s that.
The quote on the right is one of my favorites. I use it as a mantra, something to hold on to whenever life throws another punch at me. In this poem, included in his collection The People Look Like Flowers at Last, Bukowski thanks every single one of the moments he went through, the good, the bad and the ugly, because they made him who he was. Charles freaking Bukowski.
“As I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.”
So you ask, why Miss Bukowski?
The simplest answer is "I just like that creepy old man."
The less straightforward answer is that I consider my own writing to be somewhat similar. I'm not imitating Bukowski's writing, nor am I romanticizing his horrible behavior, but I do find a sense of familiarity in his experiences and uncommon strength. I find affinity in his words and how he never tried to explain himself; I find that in my own writing. I like making mistakes, because I know I will find some valuable lesson in them. There's a quote by an author I have never found that says "Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens." I find it comforting, knowing there are people out there with the same hunger I have for living everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
Bukowski showed me that I did not need an excuse for my personality or behavior. That my inevitable sufferings would only make me stronger, more capable of enjoying the tedious process of living. That I can find an answer within the ruins of my soul.
