Who is Charles Bukowski

Henry Charles Bukowski (born Heinrich Karl Bukowski; August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German-born American poet, novelist, and short story writer.

His writing was influenced by the social, cultural, and economic ambiance of his home city of Los Angeles. His work addresses the ordinary lives of poor

Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over 60 books. The FBI kept a file on him as a result of his column, Notes of a Dirty Old Man, in the LA underground newspaper Open City.

Bukowski published extensively in small literary magazines and with small presses beginning in the early 1940s and continui...
Read Full Biography


Charles Bukowski Poems

Read All Poems


Top 10 most used topics by Charles Bukowski

Love 30 I Love You 30 Never 23 Night 23 Time 23 Sun 22 Life 22 Good 22 God 20 Death 19


Charles Bukowski Quotes

Read All Quotes


Comments about Charles Bukowski

  • Shbkes: “sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think i'm not going to make it but you laugh inside remembering all the times you've felt that way” ~ charles bukowski
  • Jusummerhayes: roll the dice by charles bukowski
  • Dharamvirtanwa4: when charles bukowski said "and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?"
  • Its_ouda: "and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever u want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?" -charles bukowski
  • Randomquotebot1: charles bukowski -> “some people never go crazy. what truly horrible lives they must lead.”
Read All Comments

Write your comment about Charles Bukowski


Poem of the day

Eugene Field Poem
Sister's Cake
 by Eugene Field

I'd not complain of Sister Jane, for she was good and kind,
Combining with rare comeliness distinctive gifts of mind;
Nay, I'll admit it were most fit that, worn by social cares,
She'd crave a change from parlor life to that below the stairs,
And that, eschewing needlework and music, she should take
Herself to the substantial art of manufacturing cake.

At breakfast, then, it would befall that Sister Jane would say:
...

Read complete poem

Popular Poets