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Let It Enfold You Analysis

Author: Poetry of Charles Bukowski Type: Poetry Views: 1592

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either peace or happiness,

let it enfold youwhen i was a young man

I felt these things were


I had bad blood,a twisted

mind, a pecarious

upbringing.I was hard as granite,I

leered at thesun.

I trusted no man and

especially no

woman.I was living a hell in

small rooms, I broke

things, smashed things,

walked through glass,


I challenged everything,

was continually being

evicted,jailed,in and

out of fights,in and aout

of my mind.

women were something

to screw and rail

at,i had no male

freinds,I changed jobs and

cities,I hated holidays,


newspapers, museums,


marriage, movies,

spiders, garbagemen,

english accents,spain,

france,italy,walnuts and

the colororange.

algebra angred me,

opera sickened me,

charlie chaplin was a


and flowers were for

pansies.peace an happiness to me

were signs of


tenants of the weak



mind.but as I went on with

my alley fights,

my suicidal years,

my passage through

any number ofwomen-it gradually

began to occur to


that I wasn't diffrentfrom the

others, I was the same,they were all fulsome

with hatred,

glossed over with petty


the men I fought in

alleys had hearts of stone.

everybody was nudging,

inching, cheating for

some insignificant


the lie was the

weapon and the

plot was


darkness was the

dictator.cautiously, I allowed

myself to feel good

at times.

I found moments ofpeace in cheap


just staring at theknobs of some


or listening to the

rain in thedark.

the less i needed

the better ifelt.maybe the other life had worn medown.

I no longer found


in topping somebody

in conversation.

or in mounting the

body of some poor

drunken female

whose life hadslipped away intosorrow.I could never accept

life as it was,

i could never gobbledown all its


but there were parts,

tenous magic parts

open for the

asking.I re formulated

I don't know when,



but the change


something in me

relaxed, smoothed


i no longer had toprove that i was aman,I did'nt have to prove

anything.I began to see things:

coffe cups lined up

behind a counter in acafe.

or a dog walking along

a sidewalk.

or the way the mouse

on my dresser top

stopped there

with its body,

its ears,

its nose,

it was fixed,

a bit of life

caught within itself

and its eyes lookedat me

and they were


then- it was

gone.I began to feel good,

I began to feel good

in the worst situations

and there were plenty

of those.

like say, the boss

behind his desk,

he is going to have

to fire me.I've missed too manydays.

he is dressed in a

suit, necktie, glasses,

he says, "i am going

to have to let you go""it's all right" i tell

him.He must do what he

must do, he has awife, a house, children.

expenses, most probably

a girlfreind.I am sorry for him

he is caught.I walk onto the blazing


the whole day is



anyhow.(the whole world is at the

throat of the world,

everybody feels angry,

short-changed, cheated,

everybody is despondent,

dissillusioned)I welcomed shots of

peace, tattered shards of

happiness.I embraced that stuff

like the hottest number,

like high heels,breasts,


works.(dont get me wrong,

there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism

that overlooks all

basic problems justr for

the sake of


this is a sheild and asickness.)The knife got near my

throat again,

I almost turned on the



but when the good

moments arrived


I did'nt fight them off

like an alleyadversary.

I let them take me,

i luxuriated in them,

I bade them welcome


I even looked into

the mirror

once having thought

myself to be


I now liked what

I saw,almost


a bit ripped and



odd turns,

but all in all,

not too bad,

almost handsome,

better at least than

some of those movie

star faces

like the cheeks of

a babys

butt.and finally I discovered

real feelings fo



like latley,

like this morning,

as I was leaving,

for the track,

i saw my wif in bed,

just theshape of

her head there

(not forgetting

centuries of the living

and the dead and

the dying,

the pyarimids,

Mozart dead

but his music stillthere in the

room, weeds growing,

the earth turning,

the toteboard waiting for


I saw the shape of my

wife's head,

she so still,

i ached for her life,

just being there

under thecovers.i kissed her in the,


got down the stairway,

got outside,

got into my marvelous


fixed the seatbelt,

backed out the


feeling warm to

the fingertips,

down to my

foot on the gas


I entered the world



drove down thehill

past the houses

full and emptey



i saw the mailman,


he waved


at me.


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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

Another classical Bukowski writing, however drenched in regret; something most readers would establish as far from Bukowski's live in the moment attitude.
Here Bukowski realizes he has lived a vicious life of naughty jokes and ruff nights. He exposes the hasben as usual, however attempts to see the beauty in those breathes he thought takin in vain. The alley fights, or his struggle with human futility leads Bukowski to the beauty of life, even his own ugly life. He vizualizes succes in bieng alone, in the
"or the way the mouse
on my dresser top
stopped there
with its body,
its ears,
its nose,
it was fixed,
a bit of life
caught within itself
and its eyes lookedat me
and they were
Bukwski often refers himself to the dirty rat, unwanted and unclean. in the end Buk tells his auidence, most likely people unwanted by society themselves, that the glory and beauty of life is not, "mounting the
body of some poor
drunken female
whose life hadslipped away into sorrow"
,but in those quit moments when you are alive and you know it. When a person can accept his own ugliness, and see themself as beautiful.

Jonathan Fleissner

| Posted on 2005-03-23 | by Approved Guest

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