Cats

I was reminded the other day about a funny incident that happened years ago when the noted Nation Magazine columnist Alexander Cockburn was introduced to the famous American poet Charles Bukowski. My memory of this was sparked by the appearance of Laura Flanders, radio journalist in her own right and the niece of Cockburn came to speak at a KPFK radio event at the Palos Verdes Art Center.--JP-A

Here is a remembrance of the first time Charles Bukowski and Alexander Cockburn met, by the man who helped pull the communion together in 1992.

I've always been a Bukowski fan, so I appreciated this little story and its weird ending.  When you read the story keep in mind that Buk wasn't really very political--he loathed politicians, but he loathed a lot of people, including the politically correct, or those who deigned to have the answer to political conundrums

Leave it at this: Buk was probably an anti-social anarchist.  Whatever else he was, Cockburn was not an anarchist at all.  He was likely a socialist, a real honest to god variety.

So sparks should have flown between the two great writers, right?  As you will read, they didn't.

One of the great memories I have is of catching Buk at a reading in the San Francisco Public Library in 1975.  It was bawdy, hilarious and sensational.  A tub filled with Heineken sat on the reading table next to him on one end.  A lone potted cactus sat on the other end.

A well-organized group of homosexuals yelled obscenities at him repeatedly during the 2-hour performance. They in turn were shouted down by people who came there to listen. It felt like violence and mayhem might break out at any moment.  Thankfully, it didn't.

I've lived with that memory a long time, and over the years I met many Buk aficionados.  I've counseled young people who have heard the legend of Bukowski and want information about him. I've talked to newbies who've had their "minds blown" by their first encounters with the author.  So many young folks have cried, "man, I can relate to the guy.  I feel like I'm living his life!"

On and on, with the occasional dissenter, literary snobbery on high.

And then there are the simple dullards.  They don't read literature at all, never mind Factotum or Moby Dick. That's a huge segment of the population, btw.

And then came the biggest puzzle of all for me.  In 2005 I was in school at Portland State, reading history.  I had a U.S. Cultural History class, and we were studying the usual canon, from indigenous folk music to recent Bob Dylan.

My name was called to go to the front of the lecture hall to pick up an essay I'd written.  "Pretty good," my prof said as he passed the graded paper to me. I took that as an opportunity to talk to the professor.  I told him we should get into some Bukowski.  He looked at me blankly.

The U.S. Cultural History PhD had never heard of him.

True story. I guess that's how you scrub often vilified yet culturally meaningful authors from memory.  Just ignore them.


TS