I've Been Out Drinking With Bukowski, Again.

A Reflection on Poetry, Influence, and the Myth of Success

It begins, as all good poetry does, with uncertainty. My poem, I’ve Been Out Drinking With Bukowski, Again, is both a conversation and a confession. It’s an exploration of success, doubt, and death—those nebulous markers we often use to define our existence. These themes swirl together in the poem, held in a fragile balance by a recurring image of "white," a symbol of purity, blankness, or perhaps the ultimate void.

Writing this felt like sitting at a bar table with Charles Bukowski, that perennial poet of the raw and the restless. Bukowski’s voice echoes in the lines, not just in the explicit invocation of his name but in the spirit of the piece—unpolished, questioning, alive.

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Bukowski’s Influence on My Writing

Bukowski was, and still is, a literary paradox. Known as the “laureate of American lowlife,” his work is simultaneously unflinching in its bleakness and surprisingly tender. He wrote of grimy bars, lost loves, and the crushing banality of life, yet he infused these topics with humor and insight, often finding grace where none should exist.

What I admire most about Bukowski is his honesty. His poetry never hides behind pretense or ornamentation; it wears its bruises proudly. He taught me that beauty doesn’t always reside in perfection but in the willingness to confront the imperfect, the raw, and the real. Bukowski remains the only poet I can pick up ANY of his vast catalog, read a poem, and know that I, too, can write.

For me, Bukowski represents permission—the permission to write about the unvarnished truth, to embrace doubt, and to lean into the messy, contradictory nature of life. In his work, I found a spirit that challenged me to push past my own self-imposed boundaries and write from a place of unguarded authenticity.

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On Success and Death

In the poem, success and death are cast as "pretty words," ephemeral concepts we pursue or dread but never fully grasp. Bukowski often returned to these themes, questioning the value of societal metrics and confronting mortality with a sardonic shrug.

In my life and writing, I find myself grappling with similar questions:

• What does success really mean?

• Does removing doubt or achieving some nebulous "goal" truly change who we are?

• And if death is the great equalizer, does it strip life of meaning—or amplify it?

These aren’t questions with easy answers, but they are the questions that make writing essential. Poetry becomes a way to wrestle with these uncertainties, to create meaning out of the chaos.

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Bukowski’s Legacy and My Process

When I write, I often think of Bukowski’s advice: “Don’t try.”, which adorns his tombstone. On the surface, it sounds like an invitation to apathy, but I believe it’s about not forcing the work—about letting poetry come from a genuine place. My best writing emerges not when I strive to be profound but when I surrender to the act itself, letting the words find their way.

I’ve Been Out Drinking With Bukowski, Again is one of those pieces that came naturally, a quiet dialogue between myself and an imagined Bukowski. In many ways, it’s less about him and more about what he represents: the enduring struggle to find clarity amidst the haze.

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Closing Thoughts

Bukowski once wrote, “Find what you love and let it kill you.” This, is the secret, that many miss in their lives. I do believe in finding what moves you—and letting it transform you. For me, that has often meant poetry, even when it takes me to uncomfortable places.

I wonder what Bukowski would think of this poem, or of my musings about him. Would he see me as an ally, or as a failed poet? Perhaps he’d lswear at me, call me an idiot, punch me square on the nose, and order another drink.

What about you? What does success mean to you—or death, for that matter? And have you ever found yourself “out drinking” with a writer who’s shaped your perspective?

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. Let’s keep the conversation going, as Bukowski might say, “with whiskey and words.”

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I’ve Been Out Drinking With Bukowski, Again.

I’m uncertain
if success
really means all that much
whether
the removal of doubt
would change
me.

Consciousness dilated:
white, white,
pure white.

I’m uncertain
if death
really means all that much
whether
the removal of thought
would change
me.

Consciousness dilated:
white, white,
pure white.

I’ve been out drinking with Bukowski, again.
It’s been a while old friend.

There is one certainty we agreed upon:
success and death,
my love,
are nothing more
than pretty words.

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