Una ligera resaca (Fragmento)

Cuando Kevin y Gwen llegaron en coche a casa de Tom, Tom se levantó y dijo:

—Aquí están. Ahora, tenemos que conservar todos la calma. Hay una forma justa y decente de solucionar esto. Todos somos seres maduros. Podemos arreglarlo todo entre nosotros. No hay ninguna necesidad de llamar a la policía. Anoche, yo quería matar a Kevin. Ahora, sólo quiero ayudarle.

Los seis parientes de Jeanjean y Cathy se quedaron sentados esperando. Sonó el timbre. Tom abrió la puerta.

—Hola, qué hay.

—Hola —dijo Gwen. Kevin no dijo nada.

—Sentaos.

Se Sentaron en el sofá.

—¿Queréis beber algo?

—No —dijo Gwen.

Whisky con soda —dijo Kevin.

Tom preparó la bebida, se la pasó a Kevin. Kevin se bebió el whisky, buscó en el bolso un cigarrillo.

—Kevin —dijo Tom—, hemos decidido que tienes que ver a un psicólogo.

—¿No a un psiquiatra?

—No, a un psicólogo.

—Está bien.

—Y creemos que tienes que pagar la terapia que puedan necesitar Jeanjean y Cathy.

—Está bien.

—Vamos a mantener esto en secreto, por ti y por las niñas.

—Gracias.

—Kevin, hay sólo una cosa que me gustaría saber. Somos tus amigos. Hace años que lo somos. Sólo una cosa: ¿por qué bebes tanto?

—La verdad, no sé por qué diablos lo hago. Supongo, más que nada, porque me aburro mucho.

 Charles Bukowski

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How to be a great writer

You’ve got to fuck a great many women
beautiful women
and write a few decent love poems.
and don’t worry about age
and / or freshly-arrived talents.
just drink more beer
more and more beer
and attend the racetrack at least once a
week
and win
if possible.

Learning to win is hard–
any slob can be a good loser.

And don’t forget your Brahms
and your Bach and your
beer.

Don’t overexcercise.

Sleep until noon.

Avoid credit cards
or paying for anything on
time.

Remember that there isn’t a piece of ass
in this world worth more than $50
(in 1977).

And if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat
whether the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong.

An early taste of death is not necessarily
a bad thing.

Stay out of churches and bars and museums,
and like the spider be
patient.

Time is everybody’s cross,
plus
exile
defeat
treachery

All that dross.

Stay with the beer.
Beer is continuous blood.

A continuous lover.

Get a large typewriter
and as the footsteps go up and down
outside your window

Hit that thing
Hit it hard

Make it a heavyweight fight

Make it the bull when he first charges in

And remember the old dogs
who fought so well:
Hemingway, Celine, Dostoevsky, Hamsun.

If you don’t think they didn’t go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you’re doing now

Without women
without food
without hope

Then you’re not ready.

Drink more beer.
there’s time.
And if there’s not
that’s all right
too.

Charles Bukowski

Bluebird

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

 

Charles Bukowski