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| 1 | HYMN FROM THE HURRICANE |
| 2 buddies | 17 |
| Saturday afternoon | 20 |
| young love | 24 |
| lioness | 28 |
| dinner, pain & transport | 29 |
| love for the first whore | 31 |
| good times | 35 |
| Jane and Prince | 38 |
| a place to hang out | 40 |
| to Jane Cooney Baker, died 1-22-62 | 42 |
| I was her lover | 44 |
| beauty gone | 45 |
| dogfight over L.A | 46 |
| event | 52 |
| all that | 53 |
| the stranger | 54 |
| the other room | 55 |
| the death of an era | 56 |
| for some friends | 59 |
| broken | 61 |
| wall clock | 62 |
| the beer bottle blow | 63 |
| some of myfathers | 69 |
| black sun | 77 |
| the players | 78 |
| batting slump | 79 |
| somewhere it's 12:41 a.m | 80 |
| the reply | 81 |
| searching for what? | 82 |
| the hero and the shortstop | 84 |
| my favorite movie | 85 |
| share the pain | 87 |
| the old pinch hitter | 89 |
| ah, ah, ah | 90 |
| Edith sent us | 91 |
| we're all gonna make it | 93 |
| hymn from the hurricane | 97 |
| 2 | FLIGHT TIME TO NOWHERE |
| soundless | 101 |
| miracle man | 102 |
| little theater in Hollywood | 104 |
| novels | 106 |
| pleased to meet you | 108 |
| yes, I am | 110 |
| now she's free | 112 |
| we get along | 113 |
| swinging from the hook | 115 |
| AIDS | 116 |
| flight time to nowhere | 117 |
| a woman in orange | 119 |
| a poem for swingers | 121 |
| backups | 122 |
| merry, merry | 123 |
| liberated woman and liberated man | 125 |
| a place to go | 127 |
| age and youth | 128 |
| a good show | 132 |
| popcorn in the dark | 133 |
| a little spot of senseless yellow | 134 |
| Toulouse | 135 |
| Bruckner (2) | 137 |
| in dreams begin responsibilities | 139 |
| uncrowned | 141 |
| what we need | 142 |
| Chatterton took rat poison and left the rest of us in | |
| peace | 145 |
| Jack | 151 |
| upon phoning an x-wife not seen for 20 years | 152 |
| big time loser | 153 |
| like a movie | 155 |
| an unusual woman | 157 |
| pale pink Porsche | 158 |
| the arrangement | 159 |
| polish sausage | 161 |
| down by the sea, the beautiful sea | 163 |
| the guitar player | 165 |
| social butterfly | 169 |
| a fan letter | 171 |
| I'm a failure | 172 |
| too dark | 174 |
| this is a fact | 176 |
| there's one in every bar | 177 |
| the beautiful rush | 178 |
| over-population | 179 |
| an old love | 181 |
| beds, bathrooms, you and me | 183 |
| puzzle | 185 |
| hot dog | 187 |
| the fall | 190 |
| on bums and heroes | 193 |
| 3 | THE SOULLESS LIFE |
| running on empty | 199 |
| this habit | 201 |
| madness? | 202 |
| it's difficult when bananas eat monkeys | 204 |
| old man with a cane | 205 |
| empty goblet | 207 |
| an interview | 209 |
| poem, poem, poem, poem | 213 |
| the soulless life | 214 |
| the x-con | 217 |
| the way it is now | 218 |
| dead dog | 219 |
| 20 bucks | 222 |
| a lost soul | 224 |
| compassion | 226 |
| he also flosses every day | 227 |
| more mail | 229 |
| look here! | 231 |
| we can't | 232 |
| terrorists | 233 |
| big time | 235 |
| here we go again | 238 |
| Manx | 239 |
| the best men are strongest alone | 241 |
| another love poem | 243 |
| the Spanish gate | 245 |
| no dice | 247 |
| stark dead | 248 |
| hello | 249 |
| lunch | 250 |
| four young gang-bangers | 255 |
| I don't care | 257 |
| Royal Standard | 259 |
| Mother and Princess Tina | 260 |
| late night | 262 |
| night sweats | 263 |
| locks | 264 |
| token drunk | 271 |
| Butch Van Gogh | 274 |
| I don't want Cleopatra | 276 |
| the strange workings of the dark life | 277 |
| open all night | 279 |
| come back | 281 |
| 4 | LAZY IN SAN PEDRO |
| my father wanted me to be a mechanical draftsman but | 287 |
| rest period | 289 |
| swivel chair | 290 |
| AT&T | 294 |
| loosely loosely | 296 |
| fungoes | 298 |
| Schubert | 300 |
| problems in the checkout line | 302 |
| troubles in the night | 304 |
| where to put it | 306 |
| Chinaski | 308 |
| hummingbird chance | 310 |
| I meet a vegetarian | 311 |
| the Nile runs north | 313 |
| all god's children got trouble | 314 |
| my 3 best friends | 316 |
| my doctor | 318 |
| a certain pride here | 322 |
| a screening | 323 |
| fame | 325 |
| thoughts on being 71 | 327 |
| at the end of the day | 329 |
| huh | 331 |
| until | 333 |
| short story | 334 |
| as much as I hate to use the "F" word | 336 |
| competition | 338 |
| raw | 340 |
| hardly Nirvana | 341 |
| garden talk | 342 |
| a computer now | 343 |
| a day so flat you could roll marbles on it | 347 |
| lazy in San Pedro | 349 |
| it's slow tonight | 350 |
| an answer to an eleventh grade student in Philadelphia | 353 |
| the yellow pencil | 354 |
| a grounder to the shortstop | 359 |
| don't sit under the apple tree with anybody else but me | 360 |
| secret laughter | 361 |
| Price | Condition | Delivery | Seller | Action |
| $99.99 | Digital |
| WonderClub |
Michael Gaughan
reviewed Open All Night on April 23, 2017
Open All Night
This collection of Bukowski's poetry is part of a collection of work that he left behind to be published after his death, which actually opens it up to a whole new possibility. Regardless of how much he never gave a shit about what people thought about him, I'm pretty sure that every human being has some level of self-preservation. There's a natural instinct not to share certain things because you know that it could change the way people look at you. But if you're leaving poems behind to be published after you've died, does it really matter?
That's why I feel like this book - and some of his other posthumous work - is somehow more honest than most of his other stuff. And that's in no way a criticism of Bukowski's work - it's just the way that these things work. And you also get to see inside his mind as his death approached, when he was in his late sixties and early seventies. A little morbid, perhaps, but one of the interesting things about reading Bukowski is that you get to experience his life with him.
As for the poetry itself, you can expect to see Bukowski's typical subjects here, including women, drinking and horse racing. But there's something more than that, although it's hard to quantify it in a review. It's like the collection has a soul of its own, a wizened old soul but a soul nonetheless. The poems somehow seem to go together to create a new cohesive whole that's bigger than its parts, which gives it an edge over some of the other collections.
Overall, it's a pretty good collection, and a good place to start whether you're new to Bukowski's work or not. You can really feel his passion as it flows from the page, even if it is applied in cynical, misogynist ways. The interesting thing about Bukowski is that he was honest - he always told it like it was, or at least how it was for him. He was uncompromising in his beliefs, and that's what makes him a good writer.
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Add Open All Night, These 189 posthumously published new poems take us deeper into the raw, wild vein of Bukowski's that extends from the early 1980s up to the time of his death in 1994., Open All Night to the inventory that you are selling on WonderClubX
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Add Open All Night, These 189 posthumously published new poems take us deeper into the raw, wild vein of Bukowski's that extends from the early 1980s up to the time of his death in 1994., Open All Night to your collection on WonderClub |
