The Laughing Heart

p One of the annoyances about going to the movies is the advertisements one is forced to endure while waiting for the feature to begin.nbsp; It is not enough that our old theatersmdash;majestic and elegantmdash;have been demolished and converted into health clubs or latte standsmdash;but the movie-going experience has become an assault on our senses, a corporate design intent on appealing to our every impulsemdash;be it killing via the US Army or videogamemdash;or by foods that hasten the onset of obesity, diabetes and/or high blood pressure before the age of 30./p p nbsp;/p p I recently saw a movie called ldquo;Horrible bossesrdquo; at the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Metreon" data-scaytid="3"Metreon/span Theater in San Francisco.nbsp; The storyline follows 3 men whose lives are being made miserable by their respective bosses.nbsp; Prior to the movie were various commercialsmdash;selling automobiles, the virtues of the US Army and a new sitcom that looks as bad--if not worse--than the onersquo;s that are currently seen by millions.nbsp; I sit through this imposition, hoping it passes quickly.nbsp; I then see an admdash;this time for Levis.nbsp; The ad shows youths moving about in various situationsmdash;protests, walking about, pulling up a pant leg, and floating on what looks like some sort of raftmdash;images flashing by as a narrator speaks.nbsp; As I listened to the words, I realized it was a poem written by Charles span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="5"Bukowski/span called: The Laughing Heart.nbsp; I sat as the images of the youngmdash;fist pumping, raging against the powers that bemdash;flashed across the screen, flirting with the impending image of the Levirsquo;s corporate logo.nbsp; I donrsquo;t own a pair of Levis.nbsp; The commercial ended and ldquo;Horrible Bossesrdquo; began./p p nbsp;/p p ldquo;Horrible Bossesrdquo; is a comedy but for Charles span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="7"Bukowski/span it was cinema span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="verite" data-scaytid="35"verite/span minus the screen.nbsp; span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="9"Bukowski/span has been called the poet laureate of skid row.nbsp; His poems focus on loneliness, despair, isolation, drinking, women, the race track (whichnbsp;he saw asnbsp;a metaphor for living and writing saying, Younbsp;can#39;t win if you don#39;t gamble)nbsp;and the hopes of working class people.nbsp; He had a disdain for precious or delicate poets saying:/p p nbsp;/p p emI hate precious poets/em/p p emI hate precious audiences too/em/p p nbsp;/p p Henry Charles span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="11"Bukowski/span span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Jr" data-scaytid="37"Jr/span. was born in 1920 in span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Andernach" data-scaytid="39"Andernach/span, Germany to an American father and German mother.nbsp; The elder span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="13"Bukowski/span moved the family to LA after the war.nbsp; The younger span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="15"Bukowski/span learned early in life what being an outsider wasmdash;being made fun of because of his slight German accentmdash;and the fact that his parents were poorer than others in the neighborhoodmdash;a fact that the elder span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="17"Bukowski/span tried desperately to hide.nbsp; The younger span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="19"Bukowski/span was afflicted with a horrible skin condition called acne span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="vulgaris" data-scaytid="41"vulgaris/spanmdash;covering him with boilsmdash;resulting in ridicule from schoolmates.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p In his memoir ldquo;Ham on Ryerdquo;, he recalls going to the hospital for his condition.nbsp; He recalled being looked over by the doctors, hearing their insensitive remarks as he stood before themmdash;as if he were part of a circus freak show.nbsp; He recalled their commentsmdash;said aloudmdash;to which he thought, ldquo;Donrsquo;t these span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="dumbfucks" data-scaytid="43"dumbfucks/span realize I can hear them?rdquo;nbsp; It was then that the medical profession became #1 on his span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="shitlist" data-scaytid="45"shitlist/span.nbsp; His father believed in the American/capitalist dream.nbsp; He rode his son at what he perceived was his lack of ldquo;Get up and gordquo;.nbsp; He derided his sonrsquo;s dream of becoming a writer, insisting that he become an engineer.nbsp; He once found a drawer full of manuscripts and became so disgusted that he threw the storiesmdash;and the typewritermdash;out the window.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p The father beat his son for various infractionsmdash;including but not limited tomdash;mowing the lawn.nbsp; He insisted that his son cut every blade of grasshellip;that not a single hair of grass be left sticking uphellip;emnot a single hair!nbsp; /emHe was routinely beaten with a razor strop.nbsp; The beatings caused him to become withdrawn and sarcastic.nbsp; Through a school friend he was introduced to alcohol, which emboldened him to stand up to his fathermdash; recalled in his poem, ldquo;The Ratrdquo;./p p nbsp;/p p emWith one punch at the age of 16 frac12;/em/p p emI knocked out my father/em/p p emA cruel shiny bastard with bad breath/em/p p emAnd I didnrsquo;t go home for some time; only now and then/em/p p emTo try to get a dollar fromnbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;/em/p p emDear mama/em/p p nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p From school he went from job to jobmdash;where he encountered bossesmdash;ldquo;Strange paper-faced menrdquo; who pissed all over his hours.nbsp; He observed his coworkers, many of his parentrsquo;s generation.nbsp; He was unimpressed with their lack of life, lack of fire.nbsp; He saw the 8 hour work day as slaverymdash;a soul draining machine meant to beat the individual into submission, with no escape. It was a system he could never accept. nbsp;He was fired frequently, spending his time in the barsmdash;resulting in hospitalization for internal bleeding that nearly killed him.nbsp; He rode the barstools, trains, greyhound span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="buses" data-scaytid="47"buses/span, park benches.nbsp; He was arrested for not going into the army during WWII.nbsp; Through these experiences he learned humanity and found his literary voice.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p His voice was that of the outsidermdash;the worker not paid enough to live on, the woman who couldnrsquo;t afford to send her sick child to the hospital, the person dying alone in a lonely room, the man working the factories with broken lives, broken feelings, broken spirits.nbsp; He saw the whole of society as a set of institutions intent on breaking the spirit.nbsp;nbsp;From the poem Genius of the Crowd/p p nbsp;/p p emThere is enough treachery hatred violence absurdity in the average/em/p p emHuman being to supply any given army on any given daynbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;/em/p p emAnd the best at murder are those who preach against it/em/p p emAnd the best at hate are those preach love/em/p p emAnd the best at war finally are those who preach peace/em/p p emnbsp;/em/p p I was introduced to span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski’s" data-scaytid="49"Bukowskirsquo;s/span poetry by my uncle, the poet Al Robles.nbsp; It was during a time when I was trying to find my own voice as a poet.nbsp; span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="21"Bukowski/span helped me find that voice through the honesty and humor of his writing.nbsp; It helped me get through work and the senseless games and dehumanization that is so prevalent in the day to day grind of the workplace.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p The first book by span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="23"Bukowski/span that I owned was ldquo;Septuagenarian Stewrdquo;mdash;a gift from my uncle.nbsp; I recall the humor of the poem ldquo;Yeahrdquo;mdash;about that great work hero, Farmer John./p p nbsp;/p p emJust heard a commercial/em/p p emWhich told me/em/p p emFarmer John smokes his own/em/p p emBacon/em/p p emNow, therersquo;s one tough/em/p p emSon of a/em/p p emBitch/em/p p nbsp;/p p Through span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="25"Bukowski/span I realized that my life was not my job, that earning a living had very little to do with living./p p nbsp;/p p Which bring me back to the commercial before the movie ldquo;Horrible Bossesrdquo;nbsp;nbsp; In it a voice recites span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski’s" data-scaytid="51"Bukowskirsquo;s/span poem, ldquo;The Laughing Heartrdquo;.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p emyour life is your lifebr / donrsquo;t let it be clubbed into dank submission.br / be on the watch.br / there are ways out.br / there is a light somewhere.br / it may not be much light butbr / it beats the darkness.br / be on the watch.br / the gods will offer you chances.br / know them.br / take them.br / you canrsquo;t beat death butbr / you can beat death in life, sometimes.br / and the more often you learn to do it,br / the more light there will be.br / your life is your life.br / know it while you have it.br / you are marvelousbr / the gods wait to delightbr / in you./em/p p nbsp;/p p The narrator wasnrsquo;t span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="27"Bukowski/span (who died in 1994).nbsp; The voice was fairly capable, mustering a passion reminiscent of Peter Coyote (I would have preferred Charlie Sheenmdash;sorry Martin).nbsp; The voiceover accompanied images of young people with the requisite age appropriate energy and angstmdash;an angst that seemed more to do with their pants than anything else./p p nbsp;/p p emldquo;You are marveloushellip;the gods wait to delight in yourdquo;.nbsp; /emThat is, of course, provided you wear the right pair of pants with the correct corporate logo.nbsp; I sat through this bad commercial, a commercial that takes the manrsquo;s wordsmdash;his poem, his lifemdash;out of context, as most commercials do.nbsp; span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="29"Bukowski/span didnrsquo;t like TV or movies, didnrsquo;t like the canned laughter, the canned lives portrayed.nbsp; The realness of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="bukowski" data-scaytid="55"bukowski/span doesnrsquo;t lie in a pair of jeansmdash;it is in his poetry.nbsp; The young folks portrayed in the commercial appear span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="self-satisifed" data-scaytid="57"self-satisifed/span. nbsp;nbsp;ldquo;You are marvelousrdquo; span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="31"Bukowski/span says, but he also said that many of the young he observed were ldquo;terribly youngrdquo; and ldquo;mirrors without reflectionrdquo;.nbsp; span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski" data-scaytid="33"Bukowski/span saw this self-satisfaction and comfort as deathmdash;death of the soul, of feeling, of spiritmdash;of life./p p nbsp;/p p I donrsquo;t know if span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski’s" data-scaytid="53"Bukowskirsquo;s/span widow or publisher sold the rights to the poem.nbsp; But he deserves to be honored in a much better manner than as part of a commercial selling blue jeans./p p (Editor#39;s note: Poor Magazine published another span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Bukowski-related" data-scaytid="59"Bukowski-related/span piece about ROTC.nbsp; See: a href="http://www.poormagazine.org/node/2943"http://span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="www.poormagazine.org" data-scaytid="1"www.poormagazine.org/span/node/2943/a)/p