Chovia torrencialmente quando abri a porta e o vi a espreitar da caixa do correio – “Burning in Water Drowning in Flame” de Charles Bukowski. Começar a ler e saber que as noites seguintes serão feitas assim, de water and flame.

“Each of these sections brings back special memories. For It Catches My Heart In Its Hands I was required to make a trip to New Orleans.The editor first had to check me out to see if I was a decent human being. Catching the train at the Union Station just bellow the Terminal Annex of the Post Office where I worked for Uncle Sam, I sat in the bar car and drank scotch and water and sped toward New Orleans to be judged and measure by an ex-con who owned an ancient printing press. Jon Webb believed that most writers (and he’d met some good ones including Sherwood Anderson, Faulkner, Hemingway) were detestable human beings when they were away from their typewriters. I arrived, they met me, Jon and is wife, Louise, we drank and talked for two weeks, then Jon Webb said, “You’re a bastard, Bukowski, but I’m going to publish you anyhow”. But that wasn´t all. Soon they were both in Los Angeles with their two dogs in a green hotel just off skid row. Re-check. Drink and talk. I was still a bastard. Good bye. Much leaving and waving through train windows. Louise cried through the glass. It Catches was published…”
Charles Bukowski na Introdução.

“Burning in Water Drowning in Flame – Selected Poems 1955-1973” de Charles Bukowski, Ecco-HarperCollins Publishers 2003.


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