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holgerhaase 's review for:
Love Is a Dog from Hell
by Charles Bukowski
These days the very little time I have to read is in brief intervals at work or during breaks or when on the road so the only thing I can unfortunately handle right now are books that I can read on the Kindle, computer or mobile phone screen and in short bursts. So poetry is ideal for this.
As a teenager Bukowski was one of my absolute (anti-)heroes. Loved his not giving a shit stance and anti-establishment middle fingering. Of course the fact that I wasn't getting any yet this old ugly brute seemed to have no trouble scoring also gave me eternal hope that things may ultimately change in this department. (It did.)
As much as I loved him, I hadn't read or re-read Bukowski in decades. I always thought it was time to re-explore at least some of his work. Saw The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993 in Waterstones but at close to €25 nearly choked at the price tag and figured there must be a cheaper way to get a hold of this. Lo, and behold on Amazon it was just $15 and the Kindle version was even cheaper at only $13 (!) and while browsing then opted for Love is a Dog from Hell instead as - just like with music - I prefer original collections to a Greatest Hits compilation.
Finally ready to reconnect with an old friend I dived right in and...... man, his writing really hasn't stood the test of time. Or else my hormones must have had an awful lot to explain.
A lot of the poems are easily interchangeable riffs on the very same thing over and over again. Short sketches randomly phrased out in poetic lines, they really lack a distinctive rhythm (or even any rhythm at all) and worst of all: the sketches just ain't that well told.
Apart from a few semi-interesting insights into his curious state of dirty old man celebrity, most are just the same old same old themes of drinking, fucking and vomiting (not always in that order) that once must have indeed been somewhat shocking and "different" but now appears just repetitive. There isn't a single smidgen of original insight into human nature anywhere in sight, the girls he comes across lack the remotest bit of individuality and whatever little verve is on display gets monotonous after the 12th repetition.
Still remember Bukowski the anti-establishment figure fondly and wouldn't part from what he meant for me as a teenager but by now I think I can safely say that I like the idea of Bukowski more than his actual work.
As a teenager Bukowski was one of my absolute (anti-)heroes. Loved his not giving a shit stance and anti-establishment middle fingering. Of course the fact that I wasn't getting any yet this old ugly brute seemed to have no trouble scoring also gave me eternal hope that things may ultimately change in this department. (It did.)
As much as I loved him, I hadn't read or re-read Bukowski in decades. I always thought it was time to re-explore at least some of his work. Saw The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993 in Waterstones but at close to €25 nearly choked at the price tag and figured there must be a cheaper way to get a hold of this. Lo, and behold on Amazon it was just $15 and the Kindle version was even cheaper at only $13 (!) and while browsing then opted for Love is a Dog from Hell instead as - just like with music - I prefer original collections to a Greatest Hits compilation.
Finally ready to reconnect with an old friend I dived right in and...... man, his writing really hasn't stood the test of time. Or else my hormones must have had an awful lot to explain.
A lot of the poems are easily interchangeable riffs on the very same thing over and over again. Short sketches randomly phrased out in poetic lines, they really lack a distinctive rhythm (or even any rhythm at all) and worst of all: the sketches just ain't that well told.
Apart from a few semi-interesting insights into his curious state of dirty old man celebrity, most are just the same old same old themes of drinking, fucking and vomiting (not always in that order) that once must have indeed been somewhat shocking and "different" but now appears just repetitive. There isn't a single smidgen of original insight into human nature anywhere in sight, the girls he comes across lack the remotest bit of individuality and whatever little verve is on display gets monotonous after the 12th repetition.
Still remember Bukowski the anti-establishment figure fondly and wouldn't part from what he meant for me as a teenager but by now I think I can safely say that I like the idea of Bukowski more than his actual work.