Question And Answer Poem by Charles Bukowski
Question And Answer
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.
This is a terrible rendition of this brilliant poem, whoever put it on here should be hung. Not only is it incomplete but it is also set out disgustingly wrong.
There is more to this poem and I am wondering why it's not there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/21/2024 11:29:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
thanks to Daniel Horne (below) for posting the full version