Trollius And Trellises - Poem by Charles Bukowski

of course, I may die in the next ten minutes 
and I’m ready for that 
but what I’m really worried about is 
that my editor-publisher might retire 
even though he is ten years younger than 

I. 
it was just 25 years ago (I was at that ripe 
old age of 45) 
when we began our unholy alliance to 
test the literary waters, 
neither of us being much 
known. 


I think we had some luck and still have some 
of same 
yet 
the odds are pretty fair 
that he will opt for warm and pleasant 
afternoons 
in the garden 
long before I. 


writing is its own intoxication 
while publishing and editing, 
attempting to collect bills 
carries its own 
attrition 
which also includes dealing with the 
petty bitchings and demands 
of many 
so-called genius darlings who are 
not. 


I won’t blame him for getting 
out 
and hope he sends me photos of his 
Rose Lane, his 
Gardenia Avenue. 


will I have to seek other 
promulgators? 
that fellow in the Russian 
fur hat? 
or that beast in the East 
with all that hair 
in his ears, with those wet and 
greasy lips? 


or will my editor-publisher 
upon exiting for that world of Trollius and 
trellis 
hand over the 
machinery 
of his former trade to a 
cousin, a 
daughter or 
some Poundian from Big 
Sur? 


or will he just pass the legacy on 
to the 
Shipping Clerk 
who will rise like 
Lazarus, 
fingering new-found 
importance? 


one can imagine terrible 
things: 
“Mr. Chinaski, all your work 
must now be submitted in 
Rondo form 
and 
typed 
triple-spaced on rice 
paper.” 


power corrupts, 
life aborts 
and all you 
have left 
is a 
bunch of 
warts. 


“no, no, Mr. Chinaski: 
Rondo form!” 


“hey, man,” I’ll ask, 
“haven’t you heard of 
the thirties?” 


“the thirties? what’s 
that?” 


my present editor-publisher 
and I 
at times 
did discuss the thirties, 
the Depression 
and 
some of the little tricks it 
taught us— 
like how to endure on almost 
nothing 
and move forward 
anyhow. 


well, John, if it happens enjoy your 
divertissement to 
plant husbandry, 
cultivate and aerate 
between 
bushes, water only in the 
early morning, spread 
shredding to discourage 
weed growth 
and 
as I do in my writing: 
use plenty of 
manure. 


and thank you 
for locating me there at 
5124 DeLongpre Avenue 
somewhere between 
alcoholism and 
madness. 


together we 
laid down the gauntlet 
and there are takers 
even at this late date 
still to be 
found 
as the fire sings 
through the 
trees.