My personal distaste may be the only common denominator of Harrison's and Bukowski's poetry. I doubt that that is so, but I'm content to leave fuller comparisons and contrasts to any sufficiently interested.
Julie, I appreciate your thinking on the sexual mores immediately upthread.
There's something I wanted to add. [humph . . .] It's like this: I enjoy fencing, the sport. The backyard club of fencing enthusiasts that I practiced with for a while had all kinds of fun. I just can't imagine finishing a good bout, then pulling off my mask to exclaim, "This sure beats wasting your time between some woman's legs!"
When one tactic of praising one thing is the disparagement of something else, one has said something about both things and about oneself.
It may just be a matter of taste. Had I been this poem's auditor, and the camping-trip companion, I would have to have replied, "Really, bro? I like camping and I'm glad to spend this time with you, but if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't be here right now."
|
Threaded Mode
