Charles Bukowsky: Borracho, pendenciero y arrollador
Dejenme presentarles al señor Charles Bokowsky: es el gordo, canoso que esta abrazando a la muñeca desnuda con la sonrisota de oreja a oreja. Este tipo vivió tal vez una de las vidas más dificiles que me ha tocado conocer. Nacido en alemania en 1920 y fenecido en Los Ángeles en 1994 es uno de los máximos exponentes de la lietratura marginal capaz de desgarrar cualquier alma hasta dejarla deshecha ya sea con tristeza o con felicidad, eso si, destrozada.
Maltratado en su infancia por su padre, conoció ambos lados de la naturaleza humana con él. Bajo su pseudónimo de Hank Chinaski retrató en "La Senda del Perdedor" toda su vida. En el poema "Hielo para las Águilas" se denota esa gran desazon por la vida.
Hielo para las águilas
Aún recuerdo los caballos
Bajo la luna
Aún recuerdo dar a los caballos
Azúcar
Terrones de azúcar blancos
Casi como de hielo,
Tenían cabezas
Como de águila
Peladas cabezas que podían morder
Y no lo hacían.
Los caballos eran más reales
Que mi padre
Más reales que dios
Y podían haberme pisado
Pero no lo hicieron
Podían haberme hecho cualquier cosa horrible
Pero no lo hicieron.
Yo aún no tenía 5 años
Pero me acuerdo;
Dios mío qué fuertes y buenas
Aquellas lenguas rojas que babeaban
Desde sus almas.
Esa poesía nomas no tiene madre. Su capacidad de encontrar la belleza en medio de la mierda o de narrar la mierda que era su vida de una bella manera se alcanza a ver en la siguiente pieza:
Cerveza
No sé cuántas botellas de cerveza
consumí mientras esperaba que las cosas
mejoraran.
No sé cuanto vino, whisky
y cerveza,
principalmente cerveza
consumí después
de haber roto con una mujer
esperando que el teléfono sonara
esperando el sonido de los pasos,
y el teléfono no suena
sino mucho más tarde
y los pasos no llegan
sino mucho más tarde.
Cuando el estómago se me sale
por la boca,
ellas llegan frescas como flores en primavera:
-"¿Qué carajo hiciste?
Llevará tres días antes de que puedas cogerme"
Una hembra dura más
vive siete años y medio más
que el macho, y toma muy poca cerveza
porque sabe que es mala para la
silueta.
Mientras nos volvemos locos
ellas están fuera
bailando y riendo
con muchachos divertidos.
Bueno, hay cerveza
bolsas y bolsas de botellas vacías de cerveza
y cuando levantás una
se desfonda
y las botellas caen
rodando
entrechocándose
derramando ceniza gris húmeda
y cerveza vieja
o las bolsas caen a las 4
de la mañana
produciendo el único sonido en tu vida.
Cerveza
ríos y mares de cerveza
cerveza, cerveza, cerveza.
La radio pasa canciones de amor
mientras el teléfono permanece en silencio
y las paredes se ciernen
y cerveza es todo lo que hay.
Y finalmente para que conozcan su voz y lo magnífico que resultaba ser su voz en el idioma original. Les dejo este cortometraje del poema "El hombre de los ojos bellos" tambien les dejo el poema en su version original:
Charles Bukowski 'the man with beautiful eyes'
When we were kids
there was a strange house
all the shades were
always
drawn
and we never heard voices
in there
and the yard was full of
bamboo
and we liked to play in
the bamboo
pretend we were
Tarzan
( although there was no
Jane)
and there was a
fish pond
a large one
full of the
fattest goldfish
you ever saw
and they were
tame.
They came to the
surface of the water
and took pieces of
bread
from our hands.
Our parents had
told us:
" never go near that
house"
so, of course,
we went.
We wondered if anybody
lived there.
Weeks went by and we
never saw
anybody.
Then one day
we heard
a voice
from the house
" YOU GOD DAMNED
WHORE!"
It was a mans
voice.
Then the screen
door
of the house was
flung open
and the man
walked out.
He was holding a
fifth of whiskey
in his right
hand.
He was about
30.
He had a cigar
in his
mouth,
needed a
shave.
His hair was
wild and
uncombed
and he was
barefoot.
In undershirt
and pants
but his eyes
were
bright
they BLAZED
with brightness
and he said,
"hey, little
gentleman,
having a good
time, I
hope?"
Then he gave a
little laugh
and walked
back into the
house.
We left,
went back to my
parents yard
and thought
about it.
Our parents,
we decided
had wanted us
to stay away
from there
because they
never wanted us
to see a man
like
that,
a strong natural
man
with
beautiful
eyes.
Our parents
were ashamed
that they were
not
like that
man,
thats why they
wanted us to stay
away.
But
we went back
to that house
and the bamboo
and the tame
goldfish.
We went back
many times
for many
weeks
but we never
saw
or heard
the man
again.
The shades were
down
as always
and it was
quiet.
Then one day
as we came back from
school
we saw the
house.
It had burned
down,
there was nothing
left,
just a smoldering
twisted black
foundation
and we went to
the fish pond
and there was
no water
in it
and the fat
orange goldfish
were dead
there,
drying out.
We went back to
my parents yard
and talked about
it
and decided that
our parents had
burned their
house down,
had killed
them
had killed the
goldfish
because it was
all too
beautiful,
even the bamboo
forest had
burned.
They had been
afraid of
the man with the
beautiful
eyes.
And
we were afraid
than
that
all throughout our lives
things like that
would happen,
that nobody
wanted
anybody
to be
strong and
beautiful
like that,
that
others would never
allow it,
and that
many people
would have to
die.
When we were kids
there was a strange house
all the shades were
always
drawn
and we never heard voices
in there
and the yard was full of
bamboo
and we liked to play in
the bamboo
pretend we were
Tarzan
( although there was no
Jane)
and there was a
fish pond
a large one
full of the
fattest goldfish
you ever saw
and they were
tame.
They came to the
surface of the water
and took pieces of
bread
from our hands.
Our parents had
told us:
" never go near that
house"
so, of course,
we went.
We wondered if anybody
lived there.
Weeks went by and we
never saw
anybody.
Then one day
we heard
a voice
from the house
" YOU GOD DAMNED
WHORE!"
It was a mans
voice.
Then the screen
door
of the house was
flung open
and the man
walked out.
He was holding a
fifth of whiskey
in his right
hand.
He was about
30.
He had a cigar
in his
mouth,
needed a
shave.
His hair was
wild and
uncombed
and he was
barefoot.
In undershirt
and pants
but his eyes
were
bright
they BLAZED
with brightness
and he said,
"hey, little
gentleman,
having a good
time, I
hope?"
Then he gave a
little laugh
and walked
back into the
house.
We left,
went back to my
parents yard
and thought
about it.
Our parents,
we decided
had wanted us
to stay away
from there
because they
never wanted us
to see a man
like
that,
a strong natural
man
with
beautiful
eyes.
Our parents
were ashamed
that they were
not
like that
man,
thats why they
wanted us to stay
away.
But
we went back
to that house
and the bamboo
and the tame
goldfish.
We went back
many times
for many
weeks
but we never
saw
or heard
the man
again.
The shades were
down
as always
and it was
quiet.
Then one day
as we came back from
school
we saw the
house.
It had burned
down,
there was nothing
left,
just a smoldering
twisted black
foundation
and we went to
the fish pond
and there was
no water
in it
and the fat
orange goldfish
were dead
there,
drying out.
We went back to
my parents yard
and talked about
it
and decided that
our parents had
burned their
house down,
had killed
them
had killed the
goldfish
because it was
all too
beautiful,
even the bamboo
forest had
burned.
They had been
afraid of
the man with the
beautiful
eyes.
And
we were afraid
than
that
all throughout our lives
things like that
would happen,
that nobody
wanted
anybody
to be
strong and
beautiful
like that,
that
others would never
allow it,
and that
many people
would have to
die.
