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not a Bukowski poem
by Jim Murdoch
I am not Bukowski
but I am the kind of person
he would have written about
if he had lived in Glasgow
or I had lived in L. A..
he would have sat at his desk
with his shirt off,
watched me
and decided what kind of man
I was.
it’s uncomfortable having the shoe
on the other foot.
Jim Murdoch writes, “I was sitting in a cold classroom on a dreich Tuesday afternoon. Our teacher handed out roneoed copies of Philip Larkin’s poem ‘Mr. Bleaney.’ There were no similes, no metaphors, no alliteration, no onomatopoeia, no babbling brooks, no blokes sitting in fields full of daisies: suddenly I realised what poetry was and all the rest was window-dressing. That was forty years ago and I have been writing and publishing ever since. You can read further examples of my poetry and prose on my website (I’m also a novelist) and there are links too on my blog, The Truth About Lies.”
qarrtsiluni 