Charles Bukowski -My buddy-

My buddy
Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

for a 21-year-old boy in New Orleans I wasn’t worth
much : I had a dark small room that smelled of
piss and death
yet I just wanted to stay in there, and there were
two lovely girls down at the end of the hall who
kept knocking on my door and yelling. "Get up !
There are good things out here !"

"go away," I told them, but that only goaded
them on, they left notes under my door and
scotch-taped flowers to the
doorknob.

I was on cheap wine and green beer and
dementia...

I got to know the old guy in the next
room, somehow I felt old like
him ; his feet and ankles were swollen and he couldn’t
lace his shoes.

each day about one p.m. we went for a walk
together and it was a very slow
walk : each step was painful for
him.

as we came to the curbing I helped him
up and down
gripping him by an elbow
and the back of his
belt, we made it.

I liked him : he never questioned me about
what I was or wasn’t
doing.
he should have been my father, and I liked
best what he said over and
over : "Nothing is worth
it."

he was a
sage

those young girls should have
left him the
notes and the
flowers.


Mi colega

para ser un chico de 21 años en Nueva Orleans yo no valía mucho
la pena: Tenia una pequeña habitación que olía a
meados y muerte
pero quería estar allí, y habían
dos adorables chicas al final del vestíbulo quienes
no paraban de golpear a mi puerta y gritar. "Levántate !
Hay cosas buenas allá afuera !"

"Largaros," les decía, pero eso solo las
estimulaba mas, me dejaban notas bajo la puerta y
pegaban flores con cinta adhesiva al
pomo de la puerta

Yo estaba metido en vino barato y cerveza verde y
demencia...

Conocí al viejo tío de la habitación de
al lado, de algún modo yo me sentía viejo como
el; sus pies y tobillos estaban hinchados y no podía
atarse los zapatos.

Cada día sobre la una del mediodía salíamos a dar un paseo
juntos y era un paseo muy
lento: Cada paso era doloroso para
el.

Cuando nos acercábamos al bordillo, yo le ayudaba a
subir y bajar
agarrándole por el codo
y por la parte de atrás de su
cinturón, lo conseguíamos.

Me gustaba: nunca me cuestiono
sobre que hacia o que dejaba de
hacer.

El debería de haber sido mi padre, y lo que mas me gustaba
era lo que decía una y
otra vez: "Nada vale la
pena."

Era un
sabio

aquellas chicas jóvenes deberían
de haberle dejado a el
las notas y las
flores.