Reviews for What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

The average rating for What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2008-12-07 00:00:00 Mark Scythian he's a difficult crank, too much bukowski is probably not good for the mental health, but there is beauty in the ugliness. or there is truth, which is sometimes the same thing. revelation. in this book, i keep coming back to "white dog": I went for a walk on Hollywood Boulevard. I looked down and there was a large white dog walking beside me. his pace was exactly the same as mine, we stopped at traffic signals together. a woman smiled at us. he must have walked 8 blocks with me. then I went into a grocery store and when I came out he was gone. or she was gone. the wonderful white dog with a trace of yellow in its fur. the large blue eyes were gone. the grinning mouth was gone. the lolling tongue was gone. things are so easily lost. things just can't be kept forever. I got the blues. I got the blues. that dog loved and trusted me and I let it walk away.

Review # 2 was written on 2011-02-10 00:00:00 Mildred Thomason One of my favorite poems by Bukowski in this volume, not anthologized much for some reason. There are others as well- all good and inimitably honest to whatever moment he's writing about, and sometimes humorous. ------------------- "Born to Lose" I was sitting in my cell and all the guys were tattooed BORN TO LOSE BORN TO DIE all of them were able to roll a cigarette with one hand if I mentioned Wallace Stevens or even Pablo Neruda to them they'd think me crazy. I named my cellmates in my mind. that one was Kafka that one was Dostoyevsky that one was Blake that one was Celine and that one was Mickey Spillane. I didn't like Mickey Spillane. sure enough that night at lights out Mickey and I had a fight over who got the top bunk the way it ended neither of us got the top bunk we both got the hole. after I got out of solitary I made an appointment with the warden. I told him I was a writer a sensitive and gifted soul and that I wanted to work in the library. he gave me two more days in the hole. when i got out I worked in the shoe factory. I worked with Van Gogh, Schopenhauer, Dante Robert Frost and Karl Marx. and they put Spillane in license plates.