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Overview
From the self-illustrated, unpublished work written in 1947 to hardboiled contributions to 1980s adult magazines, The Bells Tolls for No One presents the entire range of Bukowski's talent as a short story writer, from straight-up genre stories to postmodern blurring of fact and fiction. An informative introduction by editor David Stephen Calonne provides historical context for these seemingly scandalous and chaotic tales, revealing the hidden hand of the master at the top of his form.
"The uncollected gutbucket ramblings of the grand dirty old man of Los Angeles letters have been gathered in this characteristically filthy, funny compilation ... Bukowkski's gift was a sense for the raunchy absurdity of life, his writing a grumble that might turn into a belly laugh or a racking cough but that always throbbed with vital energy."—Kirkus Reviews
Born in Andernach, Germany, and raised in Los Angeles, Charles Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he would eventually publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose. He died of leukemia in San Pedro, California on March 9, 1994.
David Stephen Calonne is the author of several books and has edited three previous collections of the uncollected work of Charles Bukowski for City Lights: Absence of the Hero, Portions from a Wine-Stained Notebook, and More Notes of a Dirty Old Man.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780872866843 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | City Lights Books |
| Publication date: | 07/13/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 305 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (Black Sparrow, 1994), Screams from the Balcony: Selected Letters 1960-1970 (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992). He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.
David Stephen Calonne has edited three previous books of uncollected prose by Charles Bukowski for City Lights. He is the author of several books, including the critical study Charles Bukowski, and the editor of Charles Bukowski: Sunlight Here I Am/Interviews and Encounters 1963-1993.
Date of Birth:
August 16, 1920Date of Death:
March 9, 1994Place of Birth:
Andernach, GermanyPlace of Death:
San Pedro, CaliforniaEducation:
Los Angeles City College, 2 yearsRead an Excerpt
#76. LAFP, February 28, 1975
He came into town one night dressed all in black. His horse was black and the stars weren’t even out. He wore a gun and a straggly beard. He walked into the bar and ordered a whiskey. He drank it down and ordered another. Everybody became very quiet. One of the girls walked by and he grabbed her by the wrist. “How much, honey? My horn’s standing tall.”
“You don’t carry that much money,” said Minnie.
“I got a dollar, baby.”
She pulled away. “You probably got the clap anyhow,” he said, finishing the second whiskey.
“Where’s the head?” he asked the crowd. Nobody answered.
“So you won’t tell me where the head is, huh?”
There was no answer. He took out his cock and pissed on the barroom floor.
“We don’t rightly like that, stranger,” said the bartender.
“Well, next time I ask, I expect an answer. I rightly feel a bowel movement coming on.”
“What’s your name, stranger?” asked the bartender.
“Put and Tame. Fuck the first Dame.”
“You’re looking for trouble?”
“Yeah, well, pussy’s trouble. Any man knows that.”
The stranger walked over to the poker game at the far table, drew up a chair and sat down.
“Did we ask you to sit?” asked one of the boys.
“Piss on your dead mother’s tits,” said the stranger, “deal me in.”
“All right. Ante.”
The cards went around. The stranger held three, asked for two. Billy Culp held four, asked for one. The others dropped out. Culp and the stranger kept raising. The pot got to 75 cents and Culp called. Then the cards were laid down. The stranger kicked the table over and knocked Billy Culp to the floor. “There’s only one ace of hearts in a deck, son of a bitch!” The stranger had his gun out. “Son of a bitch, I’ve a good mind to connect your bellybutton up to your asshole!”
“Listen, stranger, I swear I’ll never cheat again! Take all my money but spare my life.”
“O.K, shitass,” said the stranger and he gathered up all the money and walked back to the bar.
“I’m buying a bottle,” he told the bartender. The stranger stood there swigging from the bottle. He took a mouthful and spit it on the bartender’s shirt. “This seems a goddamn dull town,” the stranger said, “don’t seem to be a man in the car load of you all. But,” he winked, “lots of women.” And as Stardust Lil walked by he reached out and ripped the top of her dress and her tits spilled out.
“Lovely,” he said, “lovely.”
A cowboy in a red shirt stood across the room. “That’s my woman, stranger.”
“Kid,” said the stranger, “no man owns a woman. Some women own men, yet there are some men who can never be owned. Women have hearts like rattlesnakes. They’ll tear your guts out and then squat over you and piss right into them.”
“You’re saying that men are better than women?”
“No different than.”
“I don’t appreciate your showing my woman’s breasts to the whole bar.”
“Christ, kid, learn the female. That bit made her happier than anything that’s happened to her for years.”
“I ought to blow your balls off!”
“O.K., fine. Wait until my dick gets hard.”
The kid reached. The stranger reached. Then the kid had extra red in his red shirt and Stardust Lil had lost her 17th lover. She wept over him, then let out a little fart and ran to the back room.
“Son of a bitchin’ male chauv pig,” breathed a tiny voice from somewhere in the room.
“By god,” said the stranger, “by god that gits it!” He picked up the whisky bottle and drained one quarter of it. “What the hell do you people do for entertainment, fall back into your dull limpness? If God created you, He was sure as hell in need of better instruction.”
The doors swung open and there was the sheriff. “My name’s Billy Budd and I’m the sheriff of this here goddamned town and I draw me a salary to maintain law and order. My father ran away when I was 6 and my mother became the town whore but I grew up righteous and I believe in right and I hear what you been doing ain’t exactly right, so one of us is going to have to leave town. I’m calling your card, stranger, I’m calling your whole goddamned hand!”
“You got any next of kin?” asked the stranger.
“None.”
“That’s good. I ain’t a man who likes to spread extra heartbreak. The world’s so cold now. If people would only leave me alone I wouldn’t have to do what I have to keep doing.”
The stranger took another good hit from his bottle, put it down and walked over to the sheriff. He reached for the badge and unhooked it from the sheriff’s shirt.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Do you need a motherfuckin’ hearing aid? I said, ‘Open your mouth!’”
“What for?”
“Because you’re going to chew on this badge until your teeth ache. And if you don’t hurry up and git to it I might make you swallow it.”
The sheriff opened up his mouth and the stranger dropped the badge in. “Now come on, bite it! I said, BITE IT!”
The stranger stepped back and pulled out his gun. He fired some shots at the sheriff’s feet. “BITE IT!”
The sheriff began to bite the badge. The blood started coming out of his mouth. “BITE IT!” screamed the stranger. “BITE IT HARDER!” He fired some more shots at the lawman’s feet.
“O.K,,” said the stranger, “now take that badge out of your mouth, pin it on your shirt and walk the hell out of here!”
The sheriff did just that and was gone just as Stardust Lil walked down the stairway in a new dress, a sexier and prettier dress than the one before.
“Baby,” said the stranger looking up from the bar, “you finally met yourself a man.”
Stardust Lil just kept walking down the stairway, smiling.
“Goddam baby, that dress really fits you, it’s like you were born into it, shimmering and sliding and slithering. I think I’m going to take you with that dress on. I don’t want you to take It off. Of course, we may have to lift the hem a bit.”
Stardust Lil walked up to the stranger and put one hip up against him. “Pour me a drink, killer.”
“You like me, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Women like winners, I’m a winner, I know how.”
“Sure, stranger, I like winners.”
“I suck too. Titties and pussy. I give the long ride.”
“All the guys say that.
“How many do it?”
“About one man out of 30 really knows how to make love.”
“That’s rough.”
“It’s disgusting. I’ve been finger-fucking myself for the last three years. I’d rather go to bed with a woman because a woman knows what a woman wants.”
“You a lez?”
“No, but what’s a woman supposed to do when most men are just apes with stinky crotches and no imagination.”
“Have another drink, baby.”
“Yeah.”
“I can send you way beyond the heavens, baby.”
“What happened to your other women?”
“I’ve left 50 broken hearts behind me.”
“Why?”
“Oh, they just into such dumb things, like trying to correct your spelling and how you hold your shoulders.”
“Let’s go upstairs to my place, stranger, if you’re man enough.”
“Man enough I am,” he said.
They mounted the long stairway together with every eye in the bar on them. Lil sparkled in her dress and her movements. There wasn’t a man in the bar who wouldn’t give up five years of his life to be with her up there.
They waited. Five minutes went by, then 15, then 20. Then the door opened and Stardust Lil walked out. She looked about the same, only her hair was a bit awry and tossed. She walked slowly down the long stairway. Halfway down she gave a little laugh and said, “All right, boys, go on up there and get him, boys.”
Nobody moved and Lil kept walking down the stairway.
“Nobody can make our sheriff bite his badge,” she said. She really looked lovely and redeeming coming down toward the light of the bar. “Go get him, boys,” she repeated.
Nobody moved. Lil reached the bottom of the stairway. “Oh hell, you dogs, I already got him!” She had a brown paper bag in her hand. She threw it. It whisked across the floor. Then the contents rolled out. It was white and weenie-shaped and one end was gnashed raw. The blood began to milk out across the floor. And just as it did some drunk in the church tower began to ring the bell. And Mrs. McConnell’s bitch dog whelped a litter of 7.5 female, 2 male. And Stardust Lil walked back to the bar and finished the last of the stranger’s bottle, sticking it into her lips and draining it. It had been a better night than most, she thought. Really better than most. God, a woman could really get bored.