Bukowski poem— The most beautiful woman.
The most beautiful woman
Everyday the most beautiful woman I knew, she sat with me at the Army mess hall and
she looked at my face hard and she asked.
Reading poetry today at the Monterey cafe tonight, Johnnie.
I told her, every Tuesday I read in Monterey,
every Thursday I read in Pacific Grove and
on Saturday, I read at Santa Cruz.
She laughed and she smiled, I know.
She took my hand and she asked me.
“You never invite me to come with you.
We eat together twice a day and you listen to my wild tales.
Don’t you like me?”
I told her, I am a old man and you are young.
Your world is fast and my world,
easy, drinking, the sea and my words.
Your eyes, your spirit and your beauty scare me.
I am old and ugly and you make the world bright and alive.
She held silence and she whispered.
“I hate when someone call me beautiful, is this all I am to you.”
I told her, dear Gail, you are more than beauty,
you are a untamed, fearless and wild spirit.
I fear your dancing eyes, the darkness in your heart.
Some woman you love, some woman,
you adore them till death.
She smiled and she asked me.
“Would you adore me till death comes for you?”
I told her, you would be my sweetest muse or my deadly sea siren.
Her eyes started to dance wildly and she demanded.
Tonight the poetry reading we shall go,
on Saturday, I want us to find the California fault lines,
free-climb till darkness and we drink till we cannot at Santa Cruz.
I told her. What time we do leave?
Is tonight a coffee night or the whiskey near the sea.
She smiled and she whispered,
“Whiskey and the sea Johnnie.”