In connection with a show we did in Kassel in 1996, we met a German artist
in a bar, we were all in high spirits and the conversation flowed back and
forth and finally landed in a long conversation about Charles Bukowski. It
turned out that the artist lived near the bar and we went with him to his
place to continue the party. Our German friend told us that he once had met
Bukowski at a party and that Bukowski had given him the manuscript of a
collection of poems. "These are my last poems and you are the one who is
going to publish them!" Bukowski had said. The story sounded incredible,
but our new friend pulled out a pile of paper, worn and torn, spotted and
dirty. It was a collection of poems written on an old typewriter. The
manuscript was also signed with Bukowski's name.
The party continued and in the early hours we left with the manuscript
tucked away in a pocket and an idea that sometime in the future we would be
able to publish it. - Now is the time; these poems by Charles Bukowski are
probably the last he wrote. The worn-out artist has radically minimized his
expression, and yet retained his characteristic voice and form of address.
Leif Elggren, Thomas Liljenberg
Stockholm 4 May 2001