decades, centuries of error…

an acquaintance writes from Paris
that they are still
talking about the time
I fucked-up drunk
on French prime time
tv
some years ago.

it’s all a laugher to me
because I remember very little
of it
but it manages to sell
some of my books
over there
for all the wrong reasons

just like they thought it was great
that I didn’t want to visit
Sartre.

they considered that I was putting
him
down
when it was only that
I didn’t know what to say
to the old man
who I thought was a very fine
writer.

it seems like when things get
rolling your way
you get more and more credit
for doing great things that you’ve
never done

and an extra ennobling myth
arises about your work
that is not true
but it is promulgated
never the less
and that is why so many
so-called geniuses are
assholes
and so many assholes are
so-called critics.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1983
Source
Original manuscript