Bone Palace Ballet

Charles Bukowski

• Éditeur: HarperCollins e-books
• Année: 2009
• ISBN:
  9780061871436
• Sujet: Littérature
• Sous-sujet: Poésie américaine

This is a collection of 175 previously unpublished works by Bukowski. It contains yarns about his childhood in the Depression and his early literary passions, his apprentice days as a hard-drinking, starving poetic aspirant, and his later years when he looks back at fate with defiance.

1

AS YOUNG AS WE WERE EVER GOING TO GET

God’s man

we were 10 or 11 years old

when we went to see the

priest.

we knocked.

a fat, frumpy woman

answered the door.

“yes?” she asked.

“we want to see the

priest,” one of us

said.

I think it was Frank

who said

it.

“Father,” the woman

turned her head,

“some boys want to

see you.”

“tell them to come

in,” said the

priest.

“follow me,” said the

fat, frumpy lady.

we followed her.

the priest was in his

study.

he was behind his

desk.

he pushed some papers

aside.

“yes, boys?”

the lady left the

room.

“well,” I said.

“well,” said Frank.

“yes, boys, go ahead…”

“well,” said Frank, “we

wondered if God was

really there.”

the Father smiled.

“but, of course, He

is.”

“but where is He?”

I asked.

“haven’t you boys

studied your catechism?

God is Everywhere.”

“oh,” said Frank.

“thank you, Father,

we just wanted to

know,” I said.

“it’s quite all right,

boys, I’m glad you

asked.”

“thank you, Father,”

said Frank.

we both did little

bows, then

turned

and walked out of

the room.

the fat, frumpy lady

was waiting.

she led us down the

hall and to the

door.

we walked along the

street.

“I wonder if he’s

fucking her?” Frank

asked.

I looked around for God,

then answered,

“of course, he isn’t.”

“but what does he do

when he gets

excited?”

asked Frank.

“he probably prays,”

I said.

“it’s not the same

thing,” said Frank.

“he has God,” I said,

“he doesn’t need

that.”

“I think he’s fucking

her,” said Frank.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.

why don’t we go back

and ask him?”

“you go back and ask

him,” I said, “you’re

the one who’s

curious.”

“I’m afraid to,”

said Frank.

“you’re afraid of God,”

I said.

“well, aren’t you?”

he asked.

“sure.”

we stopped then at a

red light, waiting for

traffic.

neither of us had been

to Mass for

months.

it was boring.

it was more fun

talking to the

priest.

the light changed and

we crossed

over.

not normal

when I was in grammar school

our teacher told us a story

about a sailor

...