Un par de poemas de Bukowski, que habían mantenido su virginidad al margen de la otredad, finalmente han sido expuestos a para disfrute de nosotros, sus lectores.
Las primeras publicaciones oficialmente reconocidas de Bukowski datan de la década de los sesentas, sin embargo existen citas que hablan de poemas escritos veinte años antes. La producción literaria de este autor angelino es, además de admirablemente extensa, un tanto confusa ya que entre sus cientos de poemas, novelas, cuentos cortos, crónicas, y otros, muchos de ellos han sido publicados en pequeñas compilaciones.
Y tal vez el elusivo rastro de su obra ha favorecido que varias de sus piezas se mantengan al margen de la mirada de los otros, sus lectores. Y entre estas piezas se incluyen dos poemas hasta ahora inéditos, escritos por Bukowski en 1991, los cuales fueron afortunadamente descubiertos por la poeta Yvonne de la Vega, y que a continuación reproduzco:
An Answer
within the past six years
there have been four
different rumors that i
have died.
I don’t know who begins
these rumors
or why.
and certainly humans
do worse things than
this.
yet I always feel strange
when i must tell people,
usually over the
telephone, that I am
not yet dead.
somebody out there
or perhaps several
people
evidently get some
satisfaction
in announcing that I am
no longer
around.
there have been four
different rumors that i
have died.
I don’t know who begins
these rumors
or why.
and certainly humans
do worse things than
this.
yet I always feel strange
when i must tell people,
usually over the
telephone, that I am
not yet dead.
somebody out there
or perhaps several
people
evidently get some
satisfaction
in announcing that I am
no longer
around.
some day,
some night
the announcement will be
true.
to put it mildly,
I am no longer
young.
but these death-
wishers
are an unsavory
group,
these hyenas,
these vultures,
these failed writers,
will also some day be dead,
some night
the announcement will be
true.
to put it mildly,
I am no longer
young.
but these death-
wishers
are an unsavory
group,
these hyenas,
these vultures,
these failed writers,
will also some day be dead,
their petty bitterness,
their lying gutless
beings gone into
the dark.
but for the moment,
I am here
and these last lines
are for them:
your cowardice will not be missed.
even the roaches
lived with more
honor
and you were always
dead
before
me
without
rumor.
their lying gutless
beings gone into
the dark.
but for the moment,
I am here
and these last lines
are for them:
your cowardice will not be missed.
even the roaches
lived with more
honor
and you were always
dead
before
me
without
rumor.
Charles Bukowski 1991
San Pedro, California
San Pedro, California
On The Bum
moving from city to city
I always had two pairs of
shoes
I always had two pairs of
shoes
my work shoes were
thick and black
and stiff.
sometimes when I
first put them on
they were very painful,
the toes were
hardened and bent
back
but I’d get them on
on a hangover
morning.
thinking, well
here we go
again.
working for
miserable wages
and expected to
be grateful
for that,
having been chosen
from a score of
applicants.
thick and black
and stiff.
sometimes when I
first put them on
they were very painful,
the toes were
hardened and bent
back
but I’d get them on
on a hangover
morning.
thinking, well
here we go
again.
working for
miserable wages
and expected to
be grateful
for that,
having been chosen
from a score of
applicants.
it was probably my
ugly and
honest face.
ugly and
honest face.
but putting on
those shoes
again
was always
the beginning.
those shoes
again
was always
the beginning.
i had always
imagined myself
escaping that.
making it at the
gaming table
or in the
ring
or in the bed
of some rich lady.
imagined myself
escaping that.
making it at the
gaming table
or in the
ring
or in the bed
of some rich lady.
maybe I got
like that from
living too long in
Los Angeles,
a place far too
close to
Hollywood.
like that from
living too long in
Los Angeles,
a place far too
close to
Hollywood.
but going down
those roominghouse
steps
with each beginning,
those roominghouse
steps
with each beginning,
the stiff shoes
murdering my
feet,
stepping out into
the early sun,
the sidewalk was
there,
and I was just one
more
common laborer,
one more
cpmmon
human,
the whole universe
sliding through
my head
and out my ears.
the timecard waited
to check me in
and out.
and afterwards
something to
drink and the
ladies from
hell.
murdering my
feet,
stepping out into
the early sun,
the sidewalk was
there,
and I was just one
more
common laborer,
one more
cpmmon
human,
the whole universe
sliding through
my head
and out my ears.
the timecard waited
to check me in
and out.
and afterwards
something to
drink and the
ladies from
hell.
work shoes
work shoes
work shoes
and me
them with
all the lights
turned
out.
work shoes
work shoes
and me
them with
all the lights
turned
out.
San Pedro, California
Una respuesta
Dentro de los últimos 6 años , ha habido cuatro diferentes rumores de que he muerto, no se quién comienza estos rumores o porque, y ciertos humanos hacer peores cosas que esto, aún asi siempre me siento extraño cuando debo decirle a le gente por el teléfono que aún no estoy muerto, alguien o quizás a mucha gente evidentemente les da satisfaccion anunciar que ya no estoy aqui.
Algún día, alguna noche este anuncio será una verdad, por decirlo asì yo no soy un joven pero estos deseadores de la muerte son un grupo desabrido , estas hienas,estos buitres,estos fallidos escritores algún día también morirán, su amargura,su falta dehuevos se ha ido a la obscuridad...
Por el momento estoy aqui y estas ultimas lineas son para todos ellos:
Su cobardia no se extrañara incluso las cucarachas viven con mas honor , uds siempre estuvieron muertos antes de mi sin ningun rumor .
*****************************
Vagabundeando
Moviéndome de cuidad en cuidad siempre tuve dos pares de zapatos , mis zapatos de trabajo eran gruesos negros y duros, algunas veces cuando me los ponía me causaban dolor,mis dedos eran aplastados y se doblaban para atrás, pero me los comprè en una mañana de cruda , pensando ooooh bueno aquí vamos de nuevo, trabajar por un miserable sueldo y esperar a ser agradecido por eso, habiendo sido escogido de un puñado de aspirantes , probablemente fue mi horrorosa pero honesta cara.
Pero ponerme esos zapato una vez mas, librarme de eso siempre fuè el principio que yo imaginaba , haciendolo en una mesa de juegos en un ring o en la cama de alguna ricachona, tal vez me hice asì por vivir tanto tiempo en los Àngeles un lugar tan alejado de Hollywood , al comenzar a bajar los escalones de la pensión esos zapatos duros asesinaban mis pies, salir y sentir el sol matutino , allí se encontraba la banqueta y yo solamnete era un obrero común, un ser humano común.El universo entero menenandose por toda mi cabeza y escapandoce por mis oidos .
La tarjeta e el trabajo me esperaba para marcar la hora de entrada y salida y después de eso unos tragos y las viejas del infierno.
Zapatos de trabajo,zapatos de trabajo,zapatos de trabajo y ellos conmigo ,todas las luces se apagaron...
Agradezco la traducción a mi amigo Hèctor Abner.
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