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 talent

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 overexercise.

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 over $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 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.

Bukowski, Charles. « how to be a great writer », Love is a Dog From Hell, Poems 1974-1977, Harper Collins 1977, p. 93-94