john bennett | the silent treatment

16 09 2011

POETRY DISPATCH No.352 | September 16, 2011

The Silent Treatment
John Bennett

Sitting around
over his
print shop
on upper Green
40 years ago
after Bukowski’s
City Lights
with Ferlinghetti
Rip Torn &
a host of
someone said
you’re the
only one
done it &
I said
no one’s
done it
or we
still be
trying to
do it &
Ferlinghetti said
the Beats
did it.

The Beats?
I said.
But then,
you’re Ferlinghetti
aren’t you.

The room
got very
still &
down into
his beer
cradled on
his great
of gut
& said
Now you’ve
done it

stared at
me with
ice blue
that said
going to
silence you.

Which they
never did.

John Bennett

Battle Scars

John Bennett

30 new poems.

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Mini-chapbook format, in wraps.

Cover art by Henry Denander.

Please click here… if you are interested in buying this book.


charles bukowski | the darlings

3 12 2007


Poetry Dispatch No.161 | March 21, 2007

The “Other” Poetry

Yes, it’s the first day of spring. We should write and read of warmth, melting snow, the good earth, birds, flowers, and above all, hope.

This is also the 4th anniversary of the Iraq war. Deserving perhaps that “other kind of poem.” We should remember and write and reflect upon this too. I’m all for the feel-good poem, the poem that challenges our intellect ,the poem that makes us smile, poems electric in language, poems that remind us how good it is to be alive…internal rhyme schemes, no schemes, poems of patterns we all comprehend and even attempt to imitate. Here’s to the classic bards, who wrote so admirably of a time that had meaning and beauty.

But this is a good time to remember that “other” kind of poem, that “other poet,” who serves it up straight on the plate. The poets and poems that are sometimes harder to swallow, more difficult to digest. The in-your-face poets. The poets whose words sometimes spill over. Fall on the floor. Leave a stain on the tablecloth. Cause heartburn. Indigestion. Mess up the sweet poesy with attitudes you’d rather not entertain on a day the robin has returned to your backyard

Poets of attitude, conscience, anger…a lot on their mind, in their gut. And it ain’t always pretty. But these, our ‘beat’ brothers and sisters deserve a piece of the poetic action too, have every right to be heard…every right to go against the American grain. The poets who see ‘it’ for what it is. For what we are. They’ve been around for a long time. Whitman was one of them. Sandburg too. And the entire Beat Movement in America. Still out there beating the drum.

Big mouth Bukowski had his hands in it as well. He always knew how to translate the bullshit into poetry that was good for us. Norbert Blei


The Darlings by Charles Bukowski

a world full of successful people’s sons
on bicycles
on the Hollywood Riviera
at 3:11 P.M.
on a Tuesday afternoon…

this is what some of the armies died to save
this is what many of the ladies desire;
these stuffed fractions of beings
pedaling along
or stopping to chat while
still seated upon their mounts
gentle breezes sifting across
their undisturbed faces…

I understand very little of this
except maybe the armies killed the wrong people
but they usually do:
they always think the enemy is
those they are directed against
instead of those who
direct them:
the fathers of the

charles bukowski | nothing is as effective as defeat

5 10 2007



Poetry Dispatch No. 23 | November 7, 2005

nothing is as effective as defeat by Charles Bukowski

always carry a notebook with you
wherever you go, he said,
and don’t drink too much, drinking dulls
the sensibilities.
attend readings, note breath pauses,
and when you read
always understate
underplay, the crowd is smarter than you
might think,
and when you write something
don’t send it out right away,
put it in a drawer for two weeks,
then take it out and look
at it, and revise, revise,
REVISE again and again,
tighten lines like bolts holding the span
of a 5 mile bridge,
and keep a notebook by your bed,
you will get thoughts during the night
and these thoughts will vanish and be wasted
unless you notate them.
and don’t drink, any fool can
drink, we are men of

for a guy who couldn’t write at all
he was about like the rest
of them: he could sure
talk about