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December 12, 2005
Rereading Bukowski's Ham on Rye
I have just finished rereading Bukowski’s Ham on Rye, and damn it’s good. I began rereading it for mostly trite reasons I won’t list, but also in the secret hope that his work would happily inform my own. I think it helped.
Ham on Rye is surely Buk’s best novel: his saddest, funniest, most insightful and sophisticated exploration of his life and mythology. It seems to me that the life and mythology of Charles Bukowski are largely inseparable, a fact owed to his famous lack of compromise. We can see in the Baron Von Himmlen shorts (Bukowski wrote them as a 12-year-old) the great Chinaski legend already forming. Himmlen was young Buk’s fictitious WWI Fokker pilot—the greatest fighter pilot in the world—who commanded respect and inspired intimidation with his preternatural gifts for flying, fighting and fucking. Within these stories lies Bukowski’s own seed—a compelling, often ugly exercise of the Hemingway-code: a volatile mix of loose misogyny, explosive machismo and daring, physical deeds. In Himmlen there is also the older Buk’s drastic desire for isolation and drink, and a brooding, educated misanthropy.
In fact the parallels are uncanny between Himmlen and the later Bukowski—it is incredible to think that Bukowski had anticipated the life and legend of himself as a bed-ridden 12-year-old.
And so there is a great psychological depth to this book—a street-wise dissertation of the lonely, the ugly and the mad. We can really see Bukowski here, an insight birthed by an educated absence of pretension and indefatigable honesty.
Reading Ham on Rye I was again reminded of that always-important advice for writers: write what you know. I thought back to my own early writings: horribly earnest pieces written about people I didn’t know—characters unhappily but unavoidably painted with, yes, teen angst. Rereading Ham on Rye I know exactly what I have to do—forget about Leavis, Trilling and Bloom and get down to writing honestly and lucidly. I think back some more and I recall a Ginsberg quote an old housemate and friend had placed on her bedroom wall: “No tricks”—you better believe it.
And so, right now, all I have to do is find the courage…
Posted by Marty at December 12, 2005 3:15 PM
Comments
wasn't "no tricks" carver's epithet? hmm, i coulda sworn... and if you look at his style compared to ginsberg's?
do you remember, marty? the first day i ever met you, when i confused raymond carver and raymond chandler? (!!!) amazed we're still friends – though correspondingly glad – after some of the shit we've been through.
it's been a sad, sad year. there's something i wanted to give you, so badly, but i have to give it to someone else/here. i owe you, in ways you may not be entirely aware of.
have a merry xmas and new year time; be the friend i haven't to our mutual friend. i'll just hold the line for as long as i can.
miss you, man.
r
Posted by: reuben at December 12, 2005 6:34 PM
Thanks for the Good Words... we owe each other nothing, except to keep that long distance flame going for the next time we see each other...
you might be right about carver... thinking back, i'm not sure if clare was so sure of the quote's attribution...
real shame you won't be back over here for christmas. we're all bunkered down in the god-damn Ice Age right now, but there's Good People and wine to make us forget all about that...
miss you too,
be good,
m
p.s. you never did make that phone call, but you've got the no., tiger...
Posted by: martin at December 12, 2005 9:48 PM
it was raymond carver. but i like ginsberg's admonishment, too: just hit the ball.
i'm here, i think, staggering stoned with jetlag around the city. are you still by the hydey? can i knock on your door, pockets full of jarlsberg?
see you soon. meantime, heed ginsberg, tiger.
by the way, did you ever read julie burchill's comments on the anniversary of john lennon's death? you'd have been livid...
about to email you...
Posted by: clare at December 13, 2005 9:40 AM
hey marty (and reuben!).
just got a little feed of perth from you via rtr, and it's something eko and i need right now. the cold's starting to make my jaw ache when i ride my bike over here, and as perth descends into a beautiful, albeit late, summer, it makes me wanna come home. but japan's cool, and sigur ros is coming next year. as for buk, well, i owe my collection of his work to the introduction you gave me to him. i bought 'ham on rye' with a $50 angus and robertson gift voucher i got for my 21st birthday. i also bought a dictionary, but i've got no fucking idea where that is now. recently re-read 'post office'...it's a beautiful read, knocked it over in a couple of days and i felt refreshed. when someone tells it like it is in such a profoundly simple but affecting way, it feels like a small uppercut or a hit on the nose...just enough to let you know you're still feeling it. take it easy good buddy.
rick
Posted by: rick at December 14, 2005 10:00 AM
rick,
from one bad promise-keeper to a better one--thank-you.
merry christmas.
m
Posted by: marty at December 15, 2005 10:52 AM
There is something incredibly magic about Charles that seems inspire and magnetise people to his work. I find this quite amusing because he is one of the most selfish, destructive, shameless and at times heartless authors i have read. Yet I love him and that is because he was honest. He was one of the best at being honest with himself and held no shame with anything he put down. That's what made him great. He wasn't trying to win hearts or minds
check out www.myspace.com/thewakingparty
much love
Alexander
Posted by: Alex at December 21, 2005 12:03 PM
