doves, man. Great, real great. ‘I’ll have them in the pan by 2:30.’ Don’t worry about the call. I’ll pay you. I’m coming down there, I’m going to win on the horses, will dump it all in your lap. Stan’s coming down. I’ll be down the 16th. Don’t clean the place up. Leave the bottles, the rats, you on the bed smoking, sheets of paper all over. Jesus, I can’t write, I can’t write at all. Saw Hitchcock , I said, ‘How ya doin’ you son of a bitch?’ Saw x of Grove Press, he asked to see my work. ‘What you want’ I asked, ‘the published or unpublished?’ ‘Both’, he said, ‘both.’ Saw—etc., etc.”
Sherman quite a boy, that. going out to mail this. hope you got the Payne correspondence by now. c.b.
6/july/60 s.m. 15 lynch st. to buk/
ah zay Buk/ dozzzz zum letter…ah got this a.m.—met mailman out on street very early doing laundry & rec. yr letter to decode while machine went swhoos
1st a note on Jory Sherman:
young girl at bar in Bagel Shop wearing sleezy thin peek-a-boo black whorey dress, drunk…so drunk as she got up to leave her little pink hands cd hardly hold her up…they kept groping for bar like blind things…poor girl…her heels were run-down in back & her shoes were suede & she’d been out on “Neurotic Park” beach with some filthy dirty sluts of drunken men…she looked like a whore in dress & shape & mussed hair & drunkenness…all but for her poor face…too young…too blind…too bewildered…she made me sick I cd hardly keep from fainting dead away…at her tragedy…I mean Dusty yevsky…but not for me…I cannot bear the pain…and her coat was half off her plumb pink shoulders peeking through that whore’s cheap filmy black sheer dress…and Jory was sitting on the edge of the piano with his sneakered feet up on the chair…talking about Bukowski…& I called his attention to the lost girl…and some drunk came in for her & her pocketbook to take her to a car…& that was when I saw her lost hands blindly groping for a spot to guide herself by…and Jory…as tho’ it were Mrs. Pound herself…got up…still talking over his shoulder…about Buk…& naturally oh very naturally…the way Ezra in St. Liz used to be talking about Ovid or Dante…or Homer…or even Roosevelt or Churchill…wd keep talking & go over to the large tree & piss up against it…still talking about poetry or politics or art…so Jory…kept talking about Buk & he helped the poor drunken girl…on with her little coat…& she was led…out to a car where she got in…to torment my mind…
now…but Jory’s a gentleman…naturally…not trying to “fool” buk…of course we are all in hell…but there is an extenuating circumstance…for Sheri hath “seen a vision”…yr story about the portfolio…is a hilaritas…but sad too…that is way of the hilaritas…to construct itself on tragedy…like a crystal forms…all right if Buk wants to go on record “listing my ills, snakebite-carnaval, thistle, dilucidate…” then Buk will do so…& Sheri will keep the records straight
I didn’t really believe I cd lure the wary solitary fierce gloaming creature inhabiting Buk’s psyche…to EVER send anything up to Pearson at Yale but one must honourable say that such a collection exists…glare as ye will O Buk’s Psyche—ah will juz go on…tryin’ to fo’m a na’n’l mind…like a great mudpie…please Cous’ dont piss on my mud pie…dont understand large words…“gimbals & rooks distorting polysyndeton” wot iz? knew Pollack when was in Heyter’s Atalier de Set or how hellspell…(etching & engraving…& P. kept appointments at round table…very very drunk & very very well mannered…as the yg awt student recalls)
You have green eyes…gramps will rage with jealousy…he was to date the ONLY green oyed boet…in eggsistence (his spelling)
yew iz at th’ top right now—Buk…if I come down there…ah will convince you…and also…ah will attempt to get
Sherman quite a boy, that. going out to mail this. hope you got the Payne correspondence by now. c.b.
6/july/60 s.m. 15 lynch st. to buk/
ah zay Buk/ dozzzz zum letter…ah got this a.m.—met mailman out on street very early doing laundry & rec. yr letter to decode while machine went swhoos
1st a note on Jory Sherman:
young girl at bar in Bagel Shop wearing sleezy thin peek-a-boo black whorey dress, drunk…so drunk as she got up to leave her little pink hands cd hardly hold her up…they kept groping for bar like blind things…poor girl…her heels were run-down in back & her shoes were suede & she’d been out on “Neurotic Park” beach with some filthy dirty sluts of drunken men…she looked like a whore in dress & shape & mussed hair & drunkenness…all but for her poor face…too young…too blind…too bewildered…she made me sick I cd hardly keep from fainting dead away…at her tragedy…I mean Dusty yevsky…but not for me…I cannot bear the pain…and her coat was half off her plumb pink shoulders peeking through that whore’s cheap filmy black sheer dress…and Jory was sitting on the edge of the piano with his sneakered feet up on the chair…talking about Bukowski…& I called his attention to the lost girl…and some drunk came in for her & her pocketbook to take her to a car…& that was when I saw her lost hands blindly groping for a spot to guide herself by…and Jory…as tho’ it were Mrs. Pound herself…got up…still talking over his shoulder…about Buk…& naturally oh very naturally…the way Ezra in St. Liz used to be talking about Ovid or Dante…or Homer…or even Roosevelt or Churchill…wd keep talking & go over to the large tree & piss up against it…still talking about poetry or politics or art…so Jory…kept talking about Buk & he helped the poor drunken girl…on with her little coat…& she was led…out to a car where she got in…to torment my mind…
now…but Jory’s a gentleman…naturally…not trying to “fool” buk…of course we are all in hell…but there is an extenuating circumstance…for Sheri hath “seen a vision”…yr story about the portfolio…is a hilaritas…but sad too…that is way of the hilaritas…to construct itself on tragedy…like a crystal forms…all right if Buk wants to go on record “listing my ills, snakebite-carnaval, thistle, dilucidate…” then Buk will do so…& Sheri will keep the records straight
I didn’t really believe I cd lure the wary solitary fierce gloaming creature inhabiting Buk’s psyche…to EVER send anything up to Pearson at Yale but one must honourable say that such a collection exists…glare as ye will O Buk’s Psyche—ah will juz go on…tryin’ to fo’m a na’n’l mind…like a great mudpie…please Cous’ dont piss on my mud pie…dont understand large words…“gimbals & rooks distorting polysyndeton” wot iz? knew Pollack when was in Heyter’s Atalier de Set or how hellspell…(etching & engraving…& P. kept appointments at round table…very very drunk & very very well mannered…as the yg awt student recalls)
You have green eyes…gramps will rage with jealousy…he was to date the ONLY green oyed boet…in eggsistence (his spelling)
yew iz at th’ top right now—Buk…if I come down there…ah will convince you…and also…ah will attempt to get
Similar Books
