me and Capote

"when the phone rings it's usually a man's
voice and it's like most other voices because
it usually says the same thing:
"are you Henry Chinaski, the writer?"

"i'm a sometimes writer."

"listen, i'm surprised you're listed. well, i want to come over and talk to you, have a few beers with you."

"why?" i ask.

"i just want to talk."

"you don't understand," i say, "there's nothing to talk about. talking brings me down."

"but i like your writing."

"you can have that."

"i just want to come over and talk awhile."

"i don't want to talk."

"then why are you listed?"

"i like to fuck women."

"is that why you write?"

"i'm like Truman Capote. i write to pay the rent."

i hang up.
they phone back.
i hang up.

i don't see what writing has to do with conversation.

i also don't see what writing has to do with my
getting 3 bad books of poetry a week
in the mail.

i'm not a priest.
i'm not a guru.
i probably have more bad moments and self-
doubt than any of those who
phone me.

but when there's a knock on the door
and a creature of beauty enters
(female)
(after phoning)
hesitant
smiling
with delightful curves and magic movements
i realize
she is more dangerous than
all the armies of time and

i know i don't write my poems for that

and then i'm not sure
and then i don't know again

and then i forget about knowing

i get her a drink
then go into the bedroom and
take the phone off the
hook.

that's the best way to get
unlisted."
-charles bukowski

2002-12-27 | 7:59 p.m.
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