The man sits in the rain at night,
Hear. There must be something wrong with him,
NO?
In 1972 Charles Bukowski publishes “Mockingbird Wish Me Luck”, a collection of poetic fragments that tell of love, pain, nostalgia and beauty, shards of us that fit together like a puzzle to tell the author’s vision of the world and man.
“Rain“is taken from this collection and focuses on a natural element that has fascinated and troubled us in equal measure since the world began. We’re getting closer to itfall, the season traditionally associated with rain. Many of us want nothing more than an afternoon filled with the scent of rushing water, lightning and dry leaves.
Perhaps it is this very desire that drives the man in Bukowski’s poem to sit beneath the storm and enjoy a moment of pure communion with nature.
“Rain” by Charles Bukowski
A symphony orchestra.
A storm breaks out,
They play a Wagner overture
People leave their places under the trees
and storms into the pavilion
the women laugh, the men demonstratively calm,
wet cigarettes that are thrown away,
Wagner continues playing, and then everyone is gone
Inside. Even birds come from the trees
and they enter the pavilion and then there is the rhapsody
Hungarian n. 2 by Lizst, and it’s still raining, but look,
a man sitting in the rain
Hear. The audience notices. They turn around
Watch out. The orchestra takes care of business
be. The man sits in the rain at night,
Hear. There must be something wrong with him,
NO?
He came to listen
the music.
Like music
What meaning do you ascribe Rain?
It is no coincidence that countless poems, songs and works of art are dedicated to this atmospheric phenomenon. Imagine how fascinated the ancient people were, who, ignorant of the mechanisms of the atmosphere, created myths and deities to explain this mysterious cascade of water from the sky.
Even today, the rain still holds a special charm in the eyes of many of us, even though it knows all its secrets. We feel it flowing to the bottom of our soul, ready to cleanse our outside and inside. We compare it to nostalgia, to the desire for intimacy. Its smell, so characteristic and unmistakable, is associated with memories and moods that make us experience moments of sweet disorientation.
In Bukowski’s poems, for most people, the storm is a moment to be avoided: we get wet, we get dirty. All the guests of the music show quickly go to the theater, ready to enjoy a concert. Suddenly the focus shifts from the theater to outside, where a lone man enjoys the spectacle of rain while his colleagues enjoy Wagner’s symphony.
Because there are moments when we manage to connect with nature to such an extent that we are completely absorbed by it, just as would be the case with a work of art. The world around us is magical and capable of describing, interpreting and amplifying our moods. For the protagonist of these verses, the rain is like music: a precious symphony that can touch the heart.
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowski Jr. was born in Andernach, Germany, in 1920 to an American father and a German mother. Bukowski, also known by the name of his literary alter ego Henry Chinaski, is the author of numerous works, including novels, short stories and poems. He is associated with the so-called “Dirty Realism” movement that developed in the USA between the 1960s and 1980s and of which Raymond Carver was also a member.
Little Charles Bukowski moved to the USA with his parents at the age of three. Los Angeles will always remain the place of the author’s stories, fascinated and also disappointed by what the city offered him. After graduating from high school, Bukowski took courses in art, journalism and literature. He started writing at the age of 24. He did not stop until his death and created countless works, including many short stories, which were characterized by a realistic dryness.
From 1960 he worked in the city’s post offices and was traumatized by the death of the woman he loved, Jane Cooney Baker, in 1962.
This tragic event gives rise to heartbreaking stories and poems that release the pain of a life force and love that has been lost forever. In 1969, Bukowski gave up his job at the post office to devote himself to writing full-time, encouraged by the offer of the Black Sparrow publishing house.
The fame continues to grow and the man’s life becomes unruly, full of vice and waste: alcohol, smoking and sex become a major theme in his literary work. In 1988 he became ill with tuberculosis, but continued to write tirelessly. He died on March 9, 1944 from fulminant leukemia
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