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Charles Bukowski

Henry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty booksCharles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
years of life: 16 August 1920 9 March 1994

Audiobooks

Quotes

eugeneionovhas quoted2 years ago
“The greatest men are the most alone.”
eugeneionovhas quoted2 years ago
“We haven’t been to a party in months! I like to see people! I’m bored! I’m so bored I’m about to go crazy! I want to do things! I want to DANCE! I want to, live!”
“Oh, shit.”
“You’re too old. You just want to sit around and criticize everything and everybody. You don’t want to do anything. Nothing’s good enough for you!”
I rolled out of bed and stood up. I began putting my shirt on.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m getting out of here.”
“There you go! The minute things don’t go your way you jump up and run out of the door. You never want to talk about things. You go home and get drunk and then you’re so sick the next day you think you’re going to die. Then you phone me!”
“I’m getting the hell out of here!”
“But why?”
“I don’t want to stay where I’m not wanted. I don’t want to stay where I’m disliked.”
eugeneionovhas quoted2 years ago
The phone rang. It was Lydia. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just sitting around.”
“You’re sitting around and drinking and listening to symphony music and playing with that goddamned Coleman lantern!”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming back?”
“No.”
“All right, drink! Drink and get sick!

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