Women still not out…
This is one fine town; it lacks some violence and madness but I have enough of that to compensate, and the harbor is fine and the god damned boats, the fresh fish each day, the wine at night, and still can get to the racetracks. Linda downstairs reading a book on organic gardening. the dream is to grow vegetables out front in an attempt to beat the mortgage rap. many new things and it’s about time…
Butch the cat has cost me over one hundred bucks trying to get his head patched after a cat fight. he tore off the 3rd bandage tonight. got to take him back to the clip-joint vet place tomorrow…[***]
[To John Martin]
November 18, 1978
The new check looked damn good; I think with that and with my hustle on the side we might pull it off, for a while anyhow, and meanwhile it’s an outrageous experience. Now that I look back I don’t think I should have taken such a big bite of pie but the 2 trips to Europe this year left me a bit more confused than usual. If it bites into the tax load to a decent extent then it’ll be worth it; better into real estate than into govt. And I can always pull out and get something back. And we lucked it getting it at 10 percent just a month or so ago and now mortgage rates are 11 percent and rising. Maybe it’s all good luck. It’s sure a long way from that $1.25 shack in Atlanta, reaching and waving at that broken electric cord, playing with suicide, freezing, starving, no out. The gods are giving me plenty of variety and I guess they aren’t through with me yet. The test is always there and it will always be there, yes, yes.
o.k., back to the travelogue. [***]
[To Carl Weissner]
November 28, 1978
[***] Went in today and hit them with 2 mortgage payments instead of one. I hope to get a year ahead on payments so when lean times come I will have time to make certain moves. Meanwhile, the downstairs bedroom is a good place for drunken guests. Myself, I fell down the other night against the edge of the fireplace, really crushed my side in, much blood and it took me a good hour or so to get up the stairway to my bed. I am still in shit poor shape, hard to sleep with the pain and so forth…the travelogue thing proceeds, should soon be finished.
Got proofs from Hustler on my story “Break-In.” I discovered an error, I had a 32 magnum in there and there isn’t any such thing so I phoned the copy editor and told him to change it to 38 magnum and while talking to him I learned something: Larry Flynt ain’t just kidding about his religious stance. The copy editor told me that my story had several “god damns” in it and that Larry wouldn’t allow God to be used like that in his mag so my people instead of saying “god damn” would have to end up saying “damn.” Also 20 other lines deleted. [***]
Oh, thanks for the rundown on the Big Book, I like to know what’s happening so my mind is clear for the old piano. payments are all in order; I realize John shouldn’t get payment for Notes but since he only takes a 20 percent cut out of U.S. sales I told him it would be all right. People like Ferlinghetti, for instance, take 50 percent plus the agent’s fees.
We would really like to see your family over here while we have this house and the big yard in front, big hedge to hide us from the street and neighbors who just say hello, and Mike would LOVE the FIREPLACE!!! and Voltrout and Linda could go bathing at Cabrillo beach while you and I worried about survival of the written word and ourselves. But I know you’d need some angle to get over here, a grant, something, and maybe you could only come alone which would be fine but not as good as with the good Voltrout and the jumping fireman Mikey. [***]
[To Carl Weissner]
December 6, 1978
[***] The typing is worse than usual, real cold tonight, will hit 29 degrees, which is cold for Calif. Linda screamed over the phone that the walnut tree was going to die and I should cover it with a sheet and tie it and I went up this rickety-ass ladder with sheet on pitchfork, I swung in the wind, the bastard was too tall for me, let it die, me swaying in this sky, thinking, all I need now is a broken hip or leg; I’ve just mended from falling into the fireplace. was never crazy for walnuts anyhow. So that’s why my fingers are cold, just got in from out there…
Had some luck the other night, going through old contracts, came across this one I signed with Ferlinghetti on Erections in Jan. 1971. And I saw where I had made him cross out the 50-50 deal on foreign rights and write in: “25% publisher, 75% author”…And, of course, I had forgotten all about that, so I jumped to the machine and wrote Nancy Peters about it and she says, o.k., sorry, we’ll straighten it, we owe you $4,500 from last year, we’re broke, but don’t worry we’ll get it to you…So, there’s a break, I must been thinking in 1971. On the Notes contract it reads 50/50 though. But on Erections it’s going to be a big help through the French, Italian, German, Swedish sales of that book. so, some luck is coming and I’ll take it all…[***]
*Pavilion of Women by Pearl S. Buck (New York, 1946).
*John Martin does not drink alcohol.
· 1979 ·
[To Louise Webb]
January 2, 1979
Hello Lou:
I lost your card letter, finally found it.
No, I hadn’t heard you had a heart attack; you keep taking those pills.
Marina Louise is now 14 years old; she’s a tall gentle girl.
I’m living with a good woman, Linda Lee, and have moved out of east Hollywood, at last…Got into this home in San Pedro because my tax accountant talked me into it. But I may have bitten off more than I can handle—mortgage payments simply hellishly high. Big old house, large front yard, there’s a balcony outside this room that overlooks the harbor, a working harbor with ships coming and going; fresh fish every day, 2 cats, a lemon tree, a tangerine tree, fig tree, other trees. I find that I am still able to type here, just finished a travelogue of my last trip to Europe. Went to Europe twice this year, got drunk and vile on national French television. Much luck with my work in Germany, France. Also work translated into Italian, Swedish, Spanish and Denmark dickering for some work or other. But it’s a recent windfall and may not last. I’ll really miss this old big house if I have to resell. And it’s about time I had luck with a good woman. Linda Lee is a good match for me. If Jon were alive he’d really get his kicks out of seeing me live in this place after all those small rooms and courts. After all, it was you and Jon who really got me started. Remember those days? The presses? Breaking in shipment…the flood…fire…attack…moving from city to city. I often talk about you two. those crazy editor-publishers, starving to bring out these beautiful and immortal printing jobs…books that people now look at in wonderment…remember our nights of drinking? with the roaches climbing the walls? pages of Bukowski stacked in the bathtub and sky-high around the walls? It was a crazy and magic time, and the good old Outsider too…never quite a magazine like that…I no longer hear from William Corrington, he wrote a novel about the Civil war and went to Hollywood, and that was it. I hear he is now studying politics and wants to be Governor of Louisiana. I’ve written 3 novels now, one just out called Women. Also a few books of short stories and quite a few books of poems. I want to go out writing, though, and now with this mortgage on my back I will damned well have to. There’s no stopping for me anyhow, it’s ingrained….
I know that New Orleans is bad for your emphysema but I think it’s the place for you spiritually. When I think of you and Jon, I think New Orleans. I’m glad you’re working at an art shop on Bourbon street. You are a New Orleans institution, a grand lady. There should be a place there for you always, Gypsy Lou Webb. Remember standing in the cold trying to hawk those paintings on the sidewalk? They ought to write songs about you. Please try to feel as good as possible. I guess you know old Henry Miller is still alive? His son wrote me a while (Larry) and told me that I was the world’s greatest writer. I told him to look over his shoulder and he’d find him. (He lives with Henry.)
So we’re still fighting from this seaport town, still trying to get the world down. I still drink too much. Recently fell down against the side of
the fireplace, drunk, then smashed the coffee table. Linda Lee put cat medicine on my side. This cat Butch got messed up in a cat fight, cost us $200 to put him back together. Then the front wheels fell off of my 67 Volks. but as you know, there’s always trouble. We go on for a while…Sorry I waited so long in answering…have been searching for your letter for days. It was damned good to hear from you. may the gods and the luck be with you…
[To Carl Weissner]
January 2, 1979
got your telegram, much thanks, and a lucky and good new year to you and Mikey and Valtrout…Are you going to translate the novel (Women)? if so, maybe I better xerox the sections Martin cut out, maybe you’d like to use them, I don’t know. I feel maybe the novel got a little long for John M. so some of the Women bit the dust. let me know. of course we hope Lutz takes the travelogue. I have submitted it to City Lights here, maybe Lutz should know this? I talked Martin into it, although he wanted to do it. [***]
Barbet is here and we are trying to get into the screenplay but it seems like all we do is get into the wine. [***]
shit, this sure sounds like a business letter but sometimes they have to be written. o.k., now going down to listen to The Honeymooners on TV…
[To Carl Weissner]
February 20, 1979
[***] Trimmed 1/5 of fig tree today, looking up into sky, branches falling on head…began to see white and green lights…took a breather…went into house and smoked ten beedies…About half-finished with screenplay with Barbet Schroeder to direct and film. He likes it better as I go on. He says, “The beginning is quite depressive…” So now a few laughs have come along…somehow…but it’s called Barfly, about that period in my life when I just sat on a bar stool for years. Parts of that just can’t be too god damned happy…
On the Frankfurt thing, sure yes, of course…Linda loves to travel…We’re hoping for the Park Hotel again, but if we have to hang out in Frankfurt, o.k. [***]
[To Gerald Locklin]
March 15, 1979
[***] On Women, a little tragedy there. Prefer you keep it fairly quiet. Like you know, I tell John Martin to go ahead and correct my grammar but this time he went too far. I should have read the proofs more carefully but am lazy. But when the book came out I read it. Shit, man. I guess he thinks I can’t write. he threw shit in. Like I like to say, “he said,” “she said.” that’s enough for me. But he threw stuff in, like “he retorted,” “he said cheerfully,” “I shrugged,” “she seemed to be sore.” Shit, it goes on and on…There’s even one place where a woman had on a green dress and he put her into a blue dress. At least he didn’t change her sexual organs. Think of playing with Faulkner like that? Anyhow, I climbed him pretty hard for it and so the 2nd edition will read on a back page somewhere: “second edition, revised.” [***]
[To Carl Weissner]
March 24, 1979
I haven’t heard from the Italians so I suppose the trip is off. I think they must have had the idea I was queer enough to leak promotional blood for free.
Thanks for word on Fuck Machine. I’ll kind of slip it off on City Lights so it will scare them into knowing I have my ear to the ground. Montfort is having some trouble with Ferlinghetti. He went up there with his photographs and Ferling. refused to see him that day because he had gotten drunk with Yevtushenko the night before. Further scam is Yev. was upset and screamed because there was no mirror in his dressing room. Also he demanded mention in a newspaper column that he was chasing women. Me, I think a man is wiser running from women than chasing them. Anyhow, I don’t know if the scam is true or not on Yev. but anyhow M.M. is back with his photos and no contract. Maybe we’ll go someplace else or maybe we’ll forget it. Lutz might be enough for us. Paranoia everywhere. I’ve had people scream at me that I’m not treating M. Montfort right on the book. I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I’m offering him half, and I know that the book would sell without the photos but that the photos would not sell without the prose, so I don’t see how I’m particularly laying anybody open.
I am re-writing the screenplay, taking out the bad first parts. No problems with Barbet, yet. I’ve agreed with his criticisms except in a couple of places where he didn’t quite understand what I was doing.
The January tour sounds all right, ugg, all those egos, if that doesn’t develop into something sick I’ll not only be surprised I’ll be reborn. It’s all right with me if we don’t have to sleep on the bus together, the whole ego gang. I mean, there’s got to be a hotel room each night. If that’s understood, o.k. But why in January?
Linda and I send luck and love to the Mannheim gang.
Oh, I have 3 new tires on my car, first time in my life. And I bought a new German cross (medal) for my windshield, real thing, $30 from the Alpine Village, a German tourist place up the freeway 5 minutes. You ought to see this one shop. An old gal sits there among this memorabilia: helmets, guns, medals, bayonets. Eva Braun’s brooch and bracelet are there (documented) and can be had for 5,000 dollars. Linda wants it…
[To John Martin]
April 1, 1979
The screenplay is taking longer than I expected but I should soon be back to normal. A few poems enclosed. Did some more last night which are better and will send along soon.
You said you were going to send the new proofs of the 2nd edition of Women a couple of weeks back. Nothing has arrived.
Also, somebody told me they were at a university in Tucson and they saw much Bukowski material. Is this the univ. with our archives? I’ve heard nothing from them. At first it was going to be 10 grand every two years, then it got down to 4 grand for the bunch, and now I hear nothing. Do you think it unkindly of me to ask?
[***] I’ve been drinking too much lately and have made plans to cut it down somewhat. Also there have been some rough seas on the home front here. Everything seems to get in the way of the writing but maybe it creates it too. The seas seem to be smooth now. Back to the movie. Fante is now writing something called How to Write a Screenplay. He’s one wonderful person.
[To Carl Weissner]
April 23, 1979
[***] I did it. I finally finished the screenplay. Took me 3 months. So far I am calling it The Rats of Thirst. It’s a short section of my life when I sat around on bar stools, starving and crazed. Now I am just crazed. The screenplay is fairly violent but accurate and it might even be humorous, though in writing it I never intended it to be any one of these things. I don’t know what I intended it to be. Anyhow, I’m now back on the good old poem again. Sent a few to the French mag Nomades. It is easier to write poems while drunk and I like the easy way. Drank 4 bottles of German white Saturday night after a good day at the race track. Linda is fine. Everything is all right around here, I mean as much as it can get all right. I might slide back into the short story again—the short story has always been a good friend of mine. The next novel, I feel, is still two or three years off—I mean before I start writing it.
I dig in the old garden a bit now and then. The neighbors like it when they see me doing that. A man working in his garden is not a dangerous man (they think). They’ve heard some wild screaming nights over here when I’ve gone mad on wine and run about the house naked, up and down the stairs, falling, cursing and all that. They prefer me in the garden. [***]
[To John Martin]
April 24, 1979
Here are some poems.
I’ve heard from two sources that Sagittaire is going to fold. I wonder how this will affect royalties? My guess is that they are certainly selling books and as long as they sell them they ought to pay up. According to Garnier: “Looks like Hachette, the biggies who sponsor the Sagittarious endeavor, got fed up with the publishers’ ‘bad moves’. Looks like they paid too much money to get your books! At least that’s part of the problem. They had to shed some twenty grand, or so they say, to secure your remaining opus. And now Hachette says they can’t tolerate this, it’s got to stop.”
I have no way of knowing how much you are selling
book rights for but if you are asking too much it could be bad for me. As you know, I’ve agreed to let you jump from 10 percent to 20 percent because you do a hell of a lot of work free for me, archives and many things I don’t know about. I don’t mind this extra 10 percent, it’s as if you were my American agent, and friend. Linda wanted me to limit you to 10 percent but I said, no. A few of these writers who you don’t publish come around and speak bitterly of you but I know damn well they’d say you were great, one of the greatest if you published their work. Meanwhile Linda listens and becomes confused.
I want my head clear so I can write. In a sense it is easier writing in a small room and talking to the mice and drinking cheap beer. What comes to the top comes there undisturbed. Now there is really more pressure but I’m going to beat that bastard too: Mr. Pressure. I get all these letters from people who claim I have saved their lives; little do they realize I am still trying to save my own. Yes, I’m drinking, and rambling. Take it easy.
[To Carl Weissner]
April 27, 1979
[***] On Shakespeare Never Did This, Michael Montfort is trying to squeeze Ferlinghetti out of his usual 8 percent but I don’t know if anything has been done yet. Is it possible to give Ferlinghetti the English speaking rights instead of just the American? The book will sell twice as much this way. [***]
I think I told you I finished the screenplay. Barbet is out sniffing around for money. All he needs is a half million or a million, haha. I think it’s a lively work and if it ever comes to being produced it will be entertaining but maybe offensive to certain types who can’t understand laughter through violence. [***]
Living on Luck Page 24
